


Real Eyes Realize Real Lies

by FUBrucewww, renewyorkairs



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Adoption Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crying, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Post-Red Hood and the Outlaws #25, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ric doesn't exist, Slade Wilson is Deathstroke, Slade Wilson is Kind of a Jerk, Whump, additional angst, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 52,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FUBrucewww/pseuds/FUBrucewww, https://archiveofourown.org/users/renewyorkairs/pseuds/renewyorkairs
Summary: "Fuck," he paused. “Alright, kid, come on." Slade firmly patted the other's cheek. "Wake up." The kid whimpered in response.Christ, the Red Hood seemed so vulnerable, Slade just wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and kill whoever got near.–or–Roy never came to save Jason from Batman in RHATO #25.Slade was in town, and he didn't like the sight of Batman beating up a kid.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson
Comments: 472
Kudos: 1349





	1. Melancholic Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Holy fuck. I'm shit at writing. Everyone is probably OOC, the pace is wack and my brain is legit dead.  
> Also not everything is canon i.e. Jason being a smoker in this AU and a god-tier cook.
> 
> Tags will be added as they appear. Enjoy!
> 
> Update 1/17/21: CH 22 edited by renewyorkairs  
> Update 2/04/21: CH 21 edited by renewyorkairs

The urge to swoop in and save the poor kid was like an annoying itch, impossible to satisfy. _God_ , it just wouldn't fuck off. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it would disturb him.

The sight enraged the mercenary. The view of a bloodstained Red Hood being _dragged_ like trash by Gotham's 'protector’. The sight of a young, beaten face that almost reminded him of his own children. The sight of punches landing, repeatedly, against a still body. The sight of Batman close to breaking his number-one most valued rule.

But what bothered him the most was that the Red Hood hadn't thrown a single fist back. Not a single flinch, flail, or flounder. The only thing that showed any sign of life was the questionable grin plastered on the kid's face. However, the slight grin faded eventually. The absence of actions hinted that the Hood had accepted his future or that he had already departed. Both choices were unnerving.

The kid's helmet was in splinters, and his red bat crest was _stripped_ from his chest. The beaten boy's lids cracked open, reassuring the assassin that he, in fact, was not dead; it revealed the pair of glassy eyes that settled at the ground.

The eyes then shifted and landed directly on the assassin perched on an adjacent roof. Hood stared at him, heartbroken and exhausted, as tears threatened to fall. The terminator's own eyes locked onto the others. It was evident that the assaulter, blinded by rage, failed to see the defeated eyes of the other.

Somehow, this sight, was what finalized his decision to play the 'hero’.

Deathstroke was the assassin, the mercenary. The few who should be ruthless, who should lack mercy, who's nature should not be good. He was the one who should be 'killing,’ he was the one who should be chased, and he was the one who should be deprived of emotions. He was the one who should be the enemy, the antagonist, and the terminator.

Slade knows he was supposed to be the enemy, and he knows letting one person die shouldn't affect him. He can and should just turn a blind eye. Hell, this person's death may even benefit him. If all of these traits were true and known, then why was he playing the hero?

Slade leaped down onto the roof, which held the two bats. The assaulter was unfazed, uncontrolled, and unable to take notice of the appearance of the mercenary. He could tell the 'protector' had lost all restraint; he scowled at the sight.

The mercenary lunged, and in one blow to the head, he rendered the assaulter unconscious. He struck the unconscious Batman a few more times, for good measures and for the sake of satisfaction.

Slade redirected his attention to the boy, who's blood was pooling on the filthy ground and seemed on the verge of death. He crouched beside the younger, his breaths were shallow and slow, almost like they would fade away any second.

Bruises littered Red Hood's visible skin; blood was dripping from so many places he wouldn't know where to start. His nose and arm looked broken, but right now, that was the least of his worries. Slade couldn't determine how many ribs shattered, and he didn't want to test his luck by pressing on them, assuming that a displaced bone pierced the kid’s lung.

"Fuck," he paused. "Alright, kid, come on." Slade firmly patted the other's cheek. "Wake up." The kid whimpered in response.

 _Christ_ , the Red Hood seemed so vulnerable, Slade just wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and _kill_ whoever got near. Though, as much as he desired to kill Batman and make him suffer, Slade knew that there would be a manhunt for him.

He's met only a few of the bat 'clan’, but he knew the extent of their capability. Seeing that the 'clan' primarily is centered around this one man, all, not just a few, bats would be out for the assassin. Plus, in the end, hypothetically, if the bats imprisoned him, he probably wouldn't even be rewarded money. However, he might gain an even better rep among villans.

"We need to get to a hospital," the mercenary pronounced after acknowledging how serious the injuries were. As much as he hated hospitals, it was his only choice. The kid didn't have severely heightened healing and was getting closer to hell by the second.

Another option would be to force a random surgeon, at gunpoint, to fix up Red Hood. But he didn't have that time. Currently, it was 'hospital or die.’

"N-no hos-spital," the kid rasped.

"You gotta better idea? This ain't something I can patch up,"

"l-les-lie," he muttered, almost in a whisper.

"Leslie who?" Slade doubted this, 'Leslie' could help, but it was a possibility the kid wanted to say something to her. Maybe Leslie had some contacts that could assist him. He patted the boy's cheek again and waited for an answer.

"Thomp-pkins c-c-" a stutter, "clinic."

Slade gave a short, curt nod. He's heard of the clinic, passed by it a few times, it's in the crime ally, and it seems like the latter trust her. However, most clinics can't help anyone with injuries to this extent.

He should have pulled Hood out earlier. He shouldn't have waited.

 _Jesus_ , he's gone soft.

He immediately threaded his arms under the smaller body and picked him up. He secured the body snugly against his midsection and started speeding across the buildings, completely disregarding the Gotham's 'protector’.

For a man dubbed a ‘protector’, he was a pretty _shitty_ excuse.

\--

When Slade arrived, the kid's breath was fading, with no time, he burst through the clinic's glass doors and took a second to observe his surroundings.

The clinic had quite a few patients that were unmistakably shocked and staring wide-eyed at the two, in full armor. A doctor with short, light hair, who he assumed was Leslie, turned around at the racket, and ran over.

She completely overlooked the assassin and hastily shined a penlight at the injured's eyes. "What the hell happened?" the blond asked rhetorically.

The doctor continued prodding the body and checking his pulse. She immediately furrowed her brows after barely picking up his heartbeat and grabbed a stethoscope. The woman quickly put the earpieces in her ears and pressed the drum to the kid's chest.

"Get him to that room!" Leslie strung the stethoscope around her neck and briefly pointed to a door.

Slade obeyed and gently placed the boy on the long table that sat in the middle of the room. Leslie followed while urgently hauling over medical equipment and tools.

She began tweaking the setting on the x-ray machine the hung over the table, "Take off his armor."

Slade didn't reply, but without question snagged a pair of polished, sliver scissors from the assortment of tools Leslie had brought earlier and cut Red Hood's top straight down the middle. He pulled apart the cut side of the top and got a better look at the injuries.

The amount of damage was unsettling. Black and blue coated the kid’s skin. Underneath the vibrant colors laid a y-shaped scar that ran from the collarbone down. And typically, Slade was unperturbable, but right now, he was most definitely perturbed.

Anger was boiling up, and Slade had to remind himself to calm down and focus on the situation at hand. Kid' was dying, and he was standing there with veins popping out of his forehead. He continued to cut down the sleeves of the armor and separate the fabric from the skin. Slade pulled the cloth away, bunched it up, and tossed it in the corner of the room.

He noticed that only half of the kid's helmet was still intact and attempted to break it off, seeing as it was weak and cracked. It worked pretty well, besides the fact that there were now dozens of red helmet shards on the drab, vinyl tiling.

"Move away," Leslie said, ready to take an x-ray.

After a few seconds of waiting, she nodded, signing that she had finished. Leslie then pushed an IV drip towards Slade, assuming he knew how to set it up. He's never really needed to use one on himself, considering his enhanced healing took care of most things, yet he has some experience.

While he set up the IV drip, Leslie strapped on an oxygen mask to the boy and jogged over to a nearby computer. She examined the x-rays that were displayed on the monitor and picked up a clipboard, fitted with fresh paper.

The woman began mumbling to her self while scribbling on the clipboard, "Fractured radius, non-displaced, cracked clavicle, bruised rib--displaced-- "

'Sounded terrible even though he wasn't able to make out the rest of her murmuring. It was apparent that a lot of shit was damaged.

Leslie rushed back over, clipboard in hand, "Get out."

Slade took a second to ruminate what that meant. It was a possibility that she knew that Slade was an assassin for hire and felt uncomfortable around him. But just from the last few minutes of observation, Leslie wasn't like the type to be fearful of him.

Leslie clarified, "I don't need you around; I’ll handle it myself."

He turned to the door, knowing that the blond was very capable of fixing up people. Slade refused to look back and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.


	2. Losing Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out grammar mistakes or confusing areas! 
> 
> In this AU Slade knows only some of the bats' identities.
> 
> **it has come to my attention that batman showing up mid-fight was just a hallucination in Deathstroke #17 but for the sake of this chapter and my sanity(i really don’t want to re-write it) let’s pretend batman was actually there.

First was the itch to save the kid, and now there's an itch to check on the kid, see if he was still breathing. No—Slade was in Gotham exclusively for a job. And a high paying job at that. He was off his game, too distracted ruminating about some poor, beat up kid.

Slade was watching his target through the scope of his rifle, which rested on a window sill, just adjacent from a generous, glass-windowed suite. 

His target was some middle-aged, rich guy, Randell Sullivan, and Slade was being paid two million American dollars to kill him. He's never heard of him, and he doesn't really care. Slade has fulfilled so many jobs, assassinated far too many deep-pocketed individuals and personal competitors to care.

 _The itch_ was disrupting his thoughts again. He's killed so many without any emotion but couldn't stand to watch some brat getting beat up? Slade didn't even know if he survived. _God_ , the boy didn't even fight back. He was letting himself get beaten. Odd, considering Red Hood is pretty damn feisty, judging from his experience and hearsay.

If he examines the kid's situation further, which he probably shouldn't: the kid shot Penguin on live TV, he was then sought out by the Bat, and he let the Bat almost kill him. 'Kid clearly had a reason for killing Penguin and _clearly_ predicted that he wouldn't be let off scot-free.

 _Christ's sake_ , he's already saved the boy, what's there more to think about?

Slade forced himself to return his attention back to the job at hand.

Slade scoped out the place a few days ahead. Sullivan obviously knew someone had it out for him and hired quite a few bodyguards to follow him everywhere. 

Regarding the bodyguards, they seem adequately trained for some situations. They only carried a single pistol on their waist, no rifles, presumably to prevent drawing an unnecessary amount of attention in public.

The building's security system was painfully weak, and the windows were not bullet-proof. Sullivan, seeming so paranoid, didn't even bother to close the curtain in his suite, which amused Slade. Putting all this information into account, it was only reasonable to use a more _hands-off_ approach.

Sullivan was near a desk, pacing back and forth, biting his nail, completely in Slade's view. Nothing impeding his vision. Easy shot. Sullivan's head aligned flawlessly in the crosshairs of the rifle.

Before Sullivan could take another step, Slade pulled the trigger. _Bang!_

The sound echoed through the muted night, alerting the bodyguards. Some of the bodyguards were scanning the surroundings, one was fumbling with his phone, and some were checking on Sullivan, who was past help. He could see the blood splattered on the wall, the man's blood pooling on the ground. It roused the memory of seeing the kid's blood streaming from various wounds.

_Pop--pop--pop!_

"Argh!" Slade unobtrusively growled out in pain. He’s been hit. One of the bodyguards probably spotted him and shot.

Just a moment ago, Slade had gotten up from behind his gun and had been standing behind the window in plain view for a few seconds. It was only natural that he gets shot. He was too busy reflecting on _the_ past incident that nagged at him non-stop.

Slade moved out of view, taking his rifle with him. Blood was dripping from just above his hip; the bullet went through and through. Didn't hit any vital organs, but it also didn't matter, his healing abilities would take care of it. The stream of blood was slowing, and his skin was already regenerating. Even though he would recover, this was proof that he is totally off his game. 

Slade slightly wavered to the opposite side of the room and leaped out an already broken window. He landed on the fire escape of the structure just across to his initial location and began scaling up towards the roof. 

Once he reached the roof, Slade raced away from the scene of the crime, using the other roofs as his runway. Typically he wouldn't be in such a rush to escape, but at the moment, he was not performing at his peak and couldn't risk encountering another hostile entity, especially one of the bats. On top of performing poorly, Slade was injured, which he estimated would heal in a few minutes. Though it meant he'd be reasonably vulnerable for that time frame.

As Slade was retreating to his safe house, he sensed a body, plausibly a bat, also crossing the top's of the buildings. He glances to his left. Multiple buildings away, the shadow continued to travel parallel to Slade. He focused his gaze. 

_Fucking hell_ , it was _the_ Batman.

The Bat was probably heading to the previous location where he assassinated Sullivan. It somewhat entertained Slade how fast Batman catches on to crimes. However, it was unusual for Batman to care so much about an assassination of one single stuck-up rich guy. 

A hypothesis crossed his mind. Batman witnessed him abduct the Red Hood, which the Bat was pursuing. Batman probably--definitely has some questions in store for Slade. 

At his peak-- or even less than peak--Slade would never be spotted. He was unquestionably not on his peak performance. Due to this, Slade had been located by one of the bodyguards and was most likely recognized. Who else wears orange and black while killing? Besides Rose. He supposed the bodyguard leaked out that Deathstroke was the shooter, and Batman got word of it. 

Even with Batman, only buildings apart, Slade didn't think that he'd been detected yet and didn't want to. He stopped moving and ducked down below the perimeters of the roof. Slade's eyes followed the gliding bat, watching him fade into the horizon.

That's when it comes to him: Batman has said the kid's real name in his presence before. 

-

_Slade was looking for his missing daughter, and to kick his ass, they hired the Red Hood._

_At that point, it was his first encounter with Red Hood. Back then, Slade assumed the Red Hood was just some kid trying to make a name for himself, and Slade, to an extent, underestimated the kid's skill. The kid had defiantly struck him as different in terms of combat._

_The Red Hood had worn a bright scarlet bat symbol atop his chest yet, but unlike the other bats, he actively accepted jobs for money, used guns, and acted as if he were playing a game._

_The Red Hood was able to chat as they fought and then shot him three times. 'Kid had even had the opportunity to kill him, but instead of taking the chance, the kid followed through with his orders, to just hurt Slade, and made cocky remarks. Not like the Red Hood seemed like he had any interest in killing Slade._

_The police had finally caught up, and both had escaped to a roof. Before they could continue their talk, Victor Ruiz appeared in an aircraft and basted a fucking RPG at the kid._

_Knowing that whoever hired Red Hood had taken Rose, Slade brought the unconscious kid with him. That was probably one of the best decisions he made that day. 'Cause soon after, when he found out Victor had set him up and was about to be killed, the Red Hood defended him._

_It was unexpected considering the kid had just put three bullets in him._

_The Kid had then continued to cover his ass, and they worked alright as a team. Red Hood would shoot, long-range, and Slade covered the short-range attacks._

_Mid-fight Batman randomly emerged and said something along the lines of, "Jason, this is not your fight; let’s go fight a clown." And although the kid seemed disgruntle, he willingly followed._

_At the time, Slade didn't take notice of the fact that Batman dropped the name of the Red Hood as he had just been left to continue to fight alone._

-

Jason, ey? He didn't care at the time, but that was the name of Bat's second ward, who is supposed to be dead. The second robin, who disappeared. 

Slade knew most of the bat clan's identities, but some were left blank. Red Hood's being one of them. Slade had deduced that Jason Todd was the second Robin the minute he ventured out in those green, scaly panties. But Jason Todd also being the Red Hood? That was new information.

Back then, it was pretty simple to assume Jason was the new Robin. Slade had already known Batman's and the original Robin's identities. Therefore, when Bruce Wayne gots a new ward and coincidently a new Robin, who was unquestionably younger than the first, Slade could easily assume Jason Todd was Robin. 

This time it wasn't an as simple connection. Most wouldn't predict the dead to come back and take the former identity of the Joker. Then again, most wouldn't assume that a Robin would turn into a crime lord, who's questionably trigger happy. Surprisingly, Slade has heard rumors of one of the Robins graduating to the Red Hood. Though, he took it with a grain of salt, knowing rumors traditionally stay just as rumors. 

In Slade defense, he's never really looked into the Red Hood's identity, and he never made it a big deal. 

Even with all these connections connecting, it was still a possibility that the bats got another kid named 'Jason.’ Jason _is_ a common name. 

Yet, somehow, Slade was sure it was _the_ Jason, _the_ second Robin, _the_ Red Hood. 

It was the goddamned grin. Slade remembered the second Robin always wore the most irksome _shit-eating_ grin, and somehow it resembled the Red Hood's grin. Red Hood had produced more of a sad grin, which may be expected while being beaten, but the smile lines and his overall appearance was identical. 

But knowing that the Red Hood was Robin made him more enraged than before. Batman had beaten up the Red Hood, the former Robin, his own son. 

Not only was Batman a shitty protector, but now he was also a shitty father. Slade knew he wasn’t a good father, and even, at times, he thought he’s been a horrible father, but at the moment, Batman seemed like a far worse father than him. 

No--Slade shouldn't care about this kid, it's not his business, he doesn't get involved with bats. 

_Fuck_ , who is he kidding? He got involved with the bats the moment he punched Batman and, to a degree, stole Red Hood. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda shit at writing and I've never written a fic so I guess I'm looking for beta readers? lmk if you're interested(especially if you know how to write Slade and Jason cause I suck).
> 
> Good news! I've decided that I'll update weekly(on Fridays)!


	3. Dead Cries, Last Tries, and White Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always, feel free to point out any mistakes or unclear areas! :)  
> Apologies for the choppiness!

Darkness saturated his mind. His eyes darted from side to side. Darkness. He glanced down. More darkness. He began to panic.

Jason held his hands up in front of his waist and looked at them. He flipped them over, observing the back of his hands, then flipping them back around to look at his palms. Jason repeated the same motion, confused. 

His hands were blurry and distorted. As he focused on his hands more, he could make out his fingers, but there were six fingers on each hand.  _ Fuck  _ , Jason shook his head and rubbed his eyes, yet when he stared back at his hands, they were blurry again. He wasn’t going insane, right?

"What the fuck?" Jason blurted out and shook out his hand, disregarding the odd number of fingers. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled through his mouth. With his eyes still shut and Jason mentally counted to ten. It was a failed attempt to manage his frustration. 

Instead, he tried running to--well--anywhere. The pool of blackness never seemed to leave him, enclosing on him everywhere he went. There was nothing else than darkness. 

Jason would never admit it, but he was scared right now, frightened even. 

He stopped running and stood in place as he felt himself somewhat shaking. Was he dead again?  _ No  _ . He couldn't be. Last time he died, he didn't travel to this dark  _ shithole  _ \--or so he remembers. 

It wasn't a seven by two coffin that he could barely move in; instead, this darkness was infinite. Though just because the two spaces where, in terms of area, opposite, they both felt equally claustrophobic. In some way, Jason almost wished that he was back in a coffin than in this void. At least in the coffin, he could touch things, and to some extent, know he was alive. 

His breaths were becoming shallower. He felt like tar was filling his lungs, and like sandpaper was stuffed down his throat. He felt as if he were suffocating. Jason wanted to shrivel into a ball and hide under the covers of his bed. Jason wanted to run away and feel alive again.  _ No  _ \--Jason just wanted to call his  _ dad  _ , Bruce.

_ Goddamnit  _ , he felt like a little kid again, fidgeting, scared, alone.

He sniffed, "B?" the sound that came out was raspy and rough, yet strikingly soft.

"Bruce? B?" Jason called again, his voice faltering and hesitant, "Dad?"

Nothing happened, he glanced around himself; it was still dark. Jason continued to wander, hoping to find an exit of light. Yet nothing and the more he realized that he could not escape, the more his anxiety built up. Though, somehow his fear began to distort into anger, which was usually how he dealt with his emotions--or it was just how the Lazarus pit made him deal with emotions. 

Where was his dad when he needed him the most? Where was his dad when he needed saving? He was never there for Jason. 

He would manipulate Jason, take him to where he died, and make him relive his most painful experience. Bruce would hurt Jason, slit his throat to save the joker, the man who  _ killed  _ Jason, Bruce’s son. He did  _ nothing  _ to avenge Jason; Bruce sent the Joker back to Arkham as if that did shit. And now Bruce had beat up his own son, just like Willis. 

Red filled his vision. Was this just a horribly realistic nightmare, or did Bruce put him in this shithole? Was this Bruce’s new psychological version of Arkham? 

Jason clenched his fist ‘till his knuckles were white and roared, "Let me out! Where are you?! Bruce!" he panted, "Fuck you, B!" 

He could feel his body plunging further into the heat of anger; he cried, "Fuck! Why are you never here?!" Even in a black hole, he still had the urge to punch someone, preferably Bruce, but hey-- beggars can't be choosers-- so, yes, he'd punch anything if he could. 

Everything around him was untouchable; if there was even anything. He didn’t like it.

"Jason," a muted voice echoed throughout the void.

Jason narrowed his eyes and stepped back in surprise. He whipped his head towards the sound. A hologram-like recording presented itself in front of the raven. It was Bruce kneeling there with a soft smile and him as Robin parallel to the older man.  _ Oh, hell, nah  _ . 

Jason froze and stared at the two; he remembered this moment. It was one of his memories. The mission had gone sideways, and the batmobile crashed in the vast body of water. He could hear Alfred shouting to him through his comm, ordering Robin to wake up and surface. Bruce was still trapped in the batmobile, though. 

Young Jason, low on air, still swam to the floor of the sea and dragged Bruce out of the locomotive. When Jason set Bruce on the surface, he wasn't breathing. Jason had acted quickly. He successfully performed CPR and mouth-to-mouth on Bruce. He remembered that when Bruce came back to consciousness, Jason, relieved, blurted out something about how Batman couldn't get rid of him that easily. 

Jason snapped back to 'reality' when the figures in front of him shifted.

The hologram-like Bruce took a firm hold of the robin's shoulder in front of him and said reassuringly, "Jason, if you ever leave, it'll be your choice, not mine." The projection then stood motionless like a paused video. 

Jason furrowed his brow at the sight and snarled, "Bullshit! You fucking liar!" He lunged forward and tried to punch the figure that resembled his father. His fist passed through the hologram, sending Jason hurling to the ground. Even though he understood he couldn't strike the sickening projection, Jason picked himself up from the floor, turned around, and dove towards the form again. 

He attempted to hit the projection over and over, failing each time, angering him even more. Jason recognized this feeling of consuming rage, the warmth of the raw pit flowing through his veins. It was almost impossible to control, and only recently had he'd experience fewer episodes. Regardless of the number of incidents, the quality of them always stayed the fucking same. Violent, untamed, chaotic-- crazed. 

Jason refused to admit any mental derangement of his normal state and even lashed out whenever one of the Bats called him 'crazy.’ It was common knowledge that Batman beats up crazies and sends them straight to Arkham. 

He wasn't fucking crazy; he couldn't be, he wouldn't be. 

Jason eased up, ceasing his assault on the hologram, exhausted. He stumbled backward a few steps, panting, and dropped to the pitch-black ground, head hung low. Jason turned his back to the loathsome, faded projection, and brought his knees to his chest, hugging them firmly.

He puffed out a weak, soft breath, "Fuck you, Bruce." The words were so delicate they didn't travel past his fetal form. Contrary to his infinite, 'fuck you, Bruce' cries, he sat, secretly waiting for his dad, just like before his death, he waited. 

He shouldn’t wait. Bruce is a fucking liar. Bruce will never come. Jason sat for a little longer but eventually realized he’d have to save himself. He scoffed under his breath, "What a fucking joke," he took a deep breath, "Get it together, Todd! Bruce can't do shit for you!" Jason stood up abruptly and swung around, expecting the unchanged hologram of Bruce and the younger version of himself. Never assume.

_ Fuck  _ , he shouldn't have turned around.

"You've been a bad little birdie! I'll have to punish you!" Standing there was the pasty white face that haunts his dreams. The Joker stared straight at Jason, crowbar in hand. Jason floundered back down to the solid floor, rushing back. 

It was different from the previous projection. This time Jason wasn't watching in the background; this time he was the subject that was about to be beaten. It looked so real, more real than before. The white face, the green hair, and the over-drawn red lips looming over him. Jason opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. 

\--

_ FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK _

"-ake up! Wake up!" a loud feminine voice shouted, diverting his attention away from his dream. He recognized the voice, it was familiar, but Jason couldn't pin-point it.

He felt a tight grasp on his shoulder, shaking him in an attempt to wake him up. The attempt was somewhat successful. He could hear and feel what was going on around him, but he still couldn't open his eyes. Jason felt like he was on drugs while being tumbled in a washing machine. In short, he felt like shit and was dizzy as hell. 

He gave the whole, 'I can't open my eyes' thing a few seconds and after he could sense the glow of light seeping through his eyelids. Eventually, his eyes decided to cooperate and opened. 

The sudden surge of white light burned his eyes, making him wince internally as he still couldn't physically move. Shortly after, shapes and colors became more distinct. Jason stared. Above him was a white drop ceiling made up of two by four vinyl tiles with occasional clear frosted tiles for lights. Taking into account the appalling ceiling and the pungent smell of disinfectant, he can safely assume he was in some sort of infirmary. 

The woman, which he assumed was the one who woke him, popped into his view and shined a penlight at his pupils, blinding him temporarily. She turned off the light and backed away slightly. Jason squinted to get a better view of the woman. Immediately when he saw the short, platinum hair, he realized it's Leslie, and knowing that it's just Leslie, he felt safer. 

Leslie messed with the IV drip next to him, "Don't move yet," Jason obeyed, not as he could move anyway. 

Even though he was able to hear sounds and comprehend what Leslie was saying, it was drowned out by the low ringing in his ears. Everything ached and was numb, at the same time a numbing ache. The amount of aching made him question if he got hit by a freight train. Jason knew he didn't get hit by a train, but it seemed like an easier concept to accept at the moment. 

_ God  _ , he needed a smoke. Did Leslie have one? Probably not, but Jason wasn’t really thinking straight. Leslie likely wouldn’t even allow him to smoke, but it was worth a shot to ask. 

In an effort to ask for a cigarette and lighter, he stretched out his jaw. Which made a loud ‘crack’ sound and turned out to hurt like a bitch,  _ go figure  _ . 

Instead, Jason coughed out a low, muffled groan in pain, "Fucking--" 

"Welcome back to the world of the living," the familiar doctor joked flatly. 

"Well, crap--didn't know I died again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how Lelie acts so her behavior in future appearances are semi guesses. If you have any information on her character behavior it would be appreciated!  
> Updates every Friday!


	4. Lachrymogenic Existence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out any ooc areas and grammatical errors!

Leslie sat in a black rolling chair a few feet away from Jason. She glanced at him, then back at her, clipboard, "How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a fucking train," Jason groaned nonchalantly. Though, 'hit by a train’, was a bit of an overstatement now since shortly after he had woken up and wiggled around, to stretch out, most of the pain surprisingly dissipated.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?"

Jason hesitated, the pain wasn't that excruciating, but he definitely could feel it, "Err... Four? Yeah, sure, four,"

"Okay," Leslie mumbled while scribbling her notes down on the clipboard.

Jason looked up at her and noticed she had dark bags under her eyes, and her normally ironed clothes were wrinkled. He feels a little bad for keeping the doctor up at the clinic, knowing that his injuries probably required surgery.

"Thanks for waking me up, Doc." It was only fair to thank her, knowing that if she hadn't, his dream would've continued, and God knows that would've sucked ass.

"Of course," she gave him a warm smile, set down the pen, and paused, "Nightmare?"

"Uh--Fuck, something like that," Jason answered, not necessarily wanting to admit anything. Plus, what he saw was more than just a nightmare. It was too graphic, too-- real. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to shove the memory back to where it belonged, the trash. Realistically there was no 'trash can' inside his mind, but he can still try to forget about it, not like the theme of the nightmare was much different from all his other dreams. 

He butted in before Leslie could respond, "How'd you know?"

Jason was genuinely curious. Usually, he was known to toss and turn, but considering he couldn't really move, he probably hadn't. He also has been told by his former teammates, Roy and Koriand'r, that he screams, but when he first tried to talk, his jaw felt like it froze for a decade. Thus, he hadn't screamed.

"Your heart rate spiked pretty high," she motioned her head towards the heart monitor standing to the left of his bed.

Jason raised a brow; he was shocked that he hadn't noticed the faint beeping that the machine emitted. He ignored his unawareness and passed it off as a side effect of painkillers-- if he was on any.

He internally scolded himself for being so careless, and if Batman were here, he’d probably give Jason a whole thirty-minute lecture. He winced at the thought of Batman, and to take his mind off it; he reluctantly observed his surroundings. Jason was in a creme colored, modestly-sized room. Machines crowded around the bed he laid in, which looked like any typical hospital bed. A few bleak plastic chairs lined the edges of the wall, and one small beige side table sat next to the right side of his bed.

Jason saw that his Red Hood gear was nowhere in sight, and he was wearing an ice blue hospital gown. He was reasonably sure he didn't change out of his gear, Leslie probably had it. Jason shrugged it off; he trusted that she'd keep it safe for him.

"Did ya' give me any pain killers?"

The blond nodded, "Morphine, not too much, though, but with your extent of injuries, I'm surprised you are not feeling more pain." 

He hummed, high pain tolerance is oh-so-convenient.

"How bad is it? The injuries," Jason asked. He could only visibly see that something in his left arm broke. Besides, he was pretty sure he saw bandages wrapped around his lower neck and below, though it was tough to confirm how far down they went with the gown obstructing his view.

Jason hoped that his injuries weren't too serious--well--he knows it's pretty bad just judging by the fact he can hardly fucking move. Yet, a part of him still hoped that at least the wounds would be healed soon. The Crime Ally can't watch itself--that is if he hasn't been kicked out of Gotham, but he bets he has.

Leslie answered before he could think further into the issue, "Hoh--it’s bad." She flipped over a paper on her clipboard and read off it out loud, "Fractured radius, non-displaced, bruised clavicle, brusied ribs, minor concussion, and multiple superficial injuries."

The younger gaped at her, shaken by the sheer amount of damage. Did _he_ do all that? Hell, what did he expect anyway? "How long 'till I can get back out?"

The woman sighed and leaned her elbow against the solid armrest of the chair, "Well, for most, a minimum of six weeks, but I've seen you heal faster than normal. Unfortunately, I don't know the exact rate of your healing, but I can _maybe_ suggest at least five weeks, even then it’s seriously stretching it, Jason." 

“Well shit,” Jason pressed his lip into a line and lifted his finger to his temple. He took a moment to process the information. 

_Five weeks_. Goddamn, five weeks. Fuck. Jason would be vulnerable and practically helpless for six weeks. He can’t go out as Red Hood for four weeks, he can’t run into the bats for five weeks, and he can’t even fucking leave Gotham for five weeks. Well--maybe he can leave Gotham. But he definitely can’t do the other two without disturbing his healing process or, worse, receiving further damage. 

"Do you remember what happened?" Leslie questioned, presumably to make sure he doesn't have any retrograde amnesia or memory difficulties in general.

Jason exhaled a tenuous breath, "I--" he stopped curtly.

He didn't want to remember; he just wanted to sweep it under the rug. Jason just wanted to pretend nothing happened. He was in denial. It was the same feeling he felt after his throat was slit by his d--Batman. And just like last time, he intended to paint over all his problems that follow these types of incidents. Jason didn't care how many times he had to re-paint, he'd do it till he runs out, as long as he can avoid confronting his mental issues that so many others have created.

Hiding and bottling up his feelings might be one of the worst ways to deal with his disorders. All these feelings have to come out sometime, and normally they decide to come out at the same time. It sucked cause most of those feelings only get translated into anger and violence. 

Jason ran his right hand roughly through his hair and grimaced, "I know what happened."

Leslie skeptically hummed in response, "I’ll let you off for now, but you’ll have to tell me later,” the doctor didn't push any further, _thank fuck._

She looked at him, reassuringly, “Do you remember how you got here?"

"Uh--" Jason thought back. Flashes of the event replayed in his mind: Batman shattering his helmet, Artemis and Biz leaving, Batman coming back to beat him up more, someone watching him get beat up from a roof, and that 'someone' punching the bat.

He didn't admit it, but his mood lifted at the thought of someone beating up Batman. Yet he couldn't remember who it was. Jason vaguely recalled mumbles of the 'someone' talking to him and trying to keep him awake. The voice was deep, hard to describe, and didn't have a native Gotham accent. With just that information, he reasoned that the person who beat up Batman was most likely an older male, a non-native, and doesn't particularly love Batman.

Jason remembered telling the person to take him to Leslie's clinic and carrying him. Obviously, the person didn't kill him and most likely took him to the clinic. Therefore, it would be safe to assume the person doesn't want the Red Hood dead and might be an ally.

A bat? No-- no bat would trust Jason's judgment more than Bruce's and would more likely side with Batman. If it were a bat, they'd also give him up to Batman. So considering that Jason's not locked up in Arkham or the cave, _none_ of the bats had helped him.

One hell of a 'family’.

"Not--really," Jason finally answered, "Did 'ya see 'em?" He was intrigued; why would anyone help him? He had just shot a man on live TV, the bats give him shit and only keep him around cause they pity him. He was a crime lord, killed dozens of people, and was still targeted by villains.

"Yes, in fact, I did," Leslie voiced, "He brought you in and stayed to help."

"Fuck--did you recognized him?"

"Well… I think I've seen him--or heard of him in the newspaper; he looked familiar."

"The news?" Jason echoed, raising a brow. The guy who saved him was in the newspaper? Jason had far too many questions running through his mind. Why would the guy be in the news? Was he in the news as a villain, hero, or as some rich personality?

If the guy didn't like Batman and was in the newspaper, then a villain would be the most logical savior. Jason mentally shivered at the thought.

But what kind of fucked up villain wants to help Red Hood? For fuck sake, he just ‘shot’ the Penguin on live TV. Usually, a villain would rather kill Red Hood than save him. _What the literal fuck._

While Jason was trapped in his own thoughts Leslie looked up as if she recalled something, "He had a full mask on, I didn't see his face or hair, but his armor was orange and black, tall, over six feet, and was carrying swords on his back," she briefly paused, "Does he sound familiar to you?"

 _Fucking hell_ , Leslie just accurately described Deathstroke. Jason smacked his dominant hand over his eyes and groaned exasperatedly, "Motherfucker," he breathed out, "Yeah, I know him."

What the hell is Deathstroke doing saving an anti-hero? Though somehow Jason's more surprised that Slade had done something without pay. Unless he was paid to beat up Batman, but even if that were true, then Slade wouldn't go out of his way to bring Jason to a clinic.

What the hell, maybe Slade saved Jason for the sake of being compassionate? But then again, when has Slade done anything out of something besides money or his children, but even that's questionable. He subconsciously furrowed his brows in confusion.

Some part of him wants to go track down Slade and question him, but Jason knows he shouldn't get involved with Slade and his shenanigans again. The last time he did, he almost got poisoned by some lizard fucker. Not fun. 

But all he can really do in his current useless state is rest and hope the bats don’t crash the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh so I tried to write Leslie but i really fucking suck sry. Also, im kinda behind on writing the chapters so i might have to miss an update. 
> 
> Updates every Friday!


	5. Emptying a Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out any grammatical errors or unclear areas!

Slade was in his Gotham safehouse, situated on the cheap canvas couch, as he dismantled and cleaned his arsenal. He held his sword firmly in his left hand, and he wiped off dried blood with a wet cloth. 

Today would be his third day in Gotham. He usually avoided lingering in Gotham for longer than a few days, but recently he’s been, to an extent, inadvertently making excuses to stay. For example, Slade’s been taking jobs that he typically wouldn’t, jobs with lower pay—or telling himself that a well-paying job might pop up.

Interestingly, Slade knew the cause of his…new peculiar behaviors. 

It’s the kid, Jason.

Slade placed his sword and cloth on the drab wood coffee table in front of him. He rubbed his face with both his hands, trying to concentrate, and slumped back against the cushions of the couch. The mercenary closed his eye in an attempt to recuperate his thoughts. 

Ever since Slade had left the kid at the clinic, he’s been ‘worried,’ to put it simply. And he wished he could find a better word besides ‘worried’ as it made him sound more caring than he was. It worked for now. ‘Worried’ was an unfamiliar feeling for the killer, knowing that the kid was not any of his children. He didn’t like it. It was messing with his concentration and his common sense. Even on simple jobs, he had been messing up in some way or getting injured. 

_ God  _ , if Jason were his kid, he’d first murder Batman then would move the kid to a safer, better city, and last would stay for his recovery. But Jason was not his kid. He had no responsibility for him and has no obligation to stay. 

Slade had witnessed the kid’s father-figure beat him up. It affected Slade. Jason’s ‘father’ wouldn’t be there to see through his recovery, and the rest of the family most likely wouldn’t be there either. And what kid wouldn’t want someone to be there after a traumatic event? 

Slade had never really been there for his own children when they were younger; he, strangely enough, wanted to be there for the kid. He’d done some pretty manipulative shit to his children, And a part of him wants to help the kid. 

Maybe he wants to help the kid to prevent him from being further manipulated as Slade had done with his own children. Somehow, to Slade, helping Jason would in some way equate to fixing his own family issues. No-- It didn’t. Perhaps he has grown a Batman complex to take in random strays. 

Also, no. He had seen dozens, even hundreds, of strays. All were in similar situations, young, abused, poor, lacking, and ill-fated. Yet, Slade had no urge to take in any of them. The kid didn’t have all the traits of strays and palpably was not ‘random’.

The kid--Jason--was young, abused, and perhaps even ill-fated. However, Jason was competent, skilled, and threw wads of money at weapons. 

Concerning Jason’s ill-fatedness. It depended on what circumstances would be defined as ‘ill-fated.’. Would the kid have been better off if Batman never took him in? Could the life he would’ve made be considered more favorable? Would the kid be doomed to a life of crime and drugs? Would becoming an ‘anti-hero’. who got beat up by his adoptive father, be considered ill-fated? 

None of those questions could ever be truly answered just by himself. 

But the kid was a bat brat which made ‘Jason’ and ‘a random stray’ part ways.

Slade’s been a rather… unconventional father.  _ Christ  _ , he has killed his son before, set his other son to be killed, hired people to trick Rose, manipulate Rose into trusting him, and some more highly questionable actions. Why did he think Batman beating up his son made the Bat, father-wise, worse than Slade? The bat didn’t kill his son as Slade had. 

It was odd. What might have made Slade resolve that Batman was a worse father were the different circumstances. Or the fact that Batman was supposed to be the protagonist, and the protagonist aren’t supposed to beat up their children. If Slade was being completely honest, then the real answer would be ‘don’t know.’ He never truly found out the reason he swooped in to save the kid, and he probably will never find a solid, sound answer. 

Slade aimlessly gazed at the repulsive, shoddy popcorn ceiling. He stared into space for god knows how long, evaluating the pros and cons of visiting the kid--well not just visiting. Slade unintentionally expected that visiting Jason would lead to Slade taking the kid under his wing. This subliminal thought made all his pros and cons catered to the ‘Slade and Jason, a team’ kind of theory. 

From Slade’s professional point of view, there were  _ almost  _ no pros to affiliating himself with Jason. Slade’s enemies would have another target to victimize; the kid would be extra baggage, would cost money to feed, would need medicine, and in general, would be another human. The pros: the kid was the Red Hood, and when they had worked together before they made a pretty damn fine team, it could be useful. However, the kid was seriously injured and would have the usefulness of a leech for quite a while. 

“Fuck,” The meta cursed when he finally noticed that he was assuming he’d take in the kid. That one damn kid prevented him from thinking straight. The thoughts about Jason just kept floating around his mind. Everything Slade did, in some way, his mind always reverted to the kid, as if it were a knee-jerk reaction. 

Slade would never be able to do a job accurately and efficiently at this rate. He thought about ‘ _ the thought  _ ’ for a few more minutes. 

He exhaled.  _ Christ’s sake  _ . Fine. He’ll visit the fuckin’ kid.

The mercenary stood up from the couch and glanced at the half-cleaned swords that laid messily on the table. Slade resolved to take them and finish cleaning them later, which, after he decided, noted how abnormal he was behaving. He doesn’t just stop cleaning his weapons mid-way without the threat of being killed or having an urgent matter. Visiting Jason was not critical; why was he acting as if it were? 

Slade let out a scoff-like breath, brushed off the thought, and pried open the dingy window that led to the fire escape. He climbed out, closing the window behind him. 

It was still dark out, not odd, knowing that it was around four in the morning. More than a few people were out roaming around, even though it was an abnormal time for most citizens to be awake. Slade, like usual, avoided them, jumped up to the roof, and began sprinting through the city.

-

The mercenary stood on the roof of a building adjacent to the clinic. He observed it. The lights were on, and through the windows, he could see the doctor, Leslie, sitting in her office sorting files. 

Was he having second thoughts? Maybe. Slade can still turn back now and save him the trouble.

No--he had to see the kid. 

Slade came to the clinic on a whim, didn’t have a real plan, and didn’t even know which room the kid stayed in. Checking every single room didn’t seem practical, and he preferred to leave before sunrise. He could just ask the doctor. Leslie didn’t seem to be bothered by Slade and hasn’t called the bats on him yet. Risky involving a civilian but would be more efficient than going through all the rooms. 

Slade dove off the building and landed in the ally that led to the back door of the clinic. He didn’t want to spook the lady or damage her property as it might give her reasons to call the bats. Instead of forcing open the metal door, he settled on lock picking. It undoubtedly took a bit more effort and time, but if it can keep him on the doctor’s good side, then it might be worth it. 

Once Slade successfully opened the back door, he strolled through the plain halls with little attempt to conceal his presence. The only thing he wanted to evade was the security cameras; he didn’t want a record of his visit. When Slade reached the door to Leslie’s office brought his fist up to the plain door and knocked. It was a strange feeling being that the only other times he’s knocked on doors was with higher-up clients.

“Come in,” he heard the stern voice through the door.

The assassin compiled. He was met by the slightly surprised face of the doctor staring at him. However, Leslie seemed more intrigued than surprised. She put down the ivory-colored files and stood up. 

At the edge of Slade’s eye, he saw a beige, wooden baseball bat leaned against the side of her desk. She was cautious, which he assumed would be expected of a clinic based in the Crime Ally. Leslie’s eyes didn’t waver, and she didn’t appear to be leaning towards the baseball bat. She seemed as if she faced worse threats. 

“The kid, which room is he in?” Slade asked as kindly as he could manage. The question still had a hint of an interrogative tone but didn’t sound threatening. 

The doctor narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the mercenary in front of her. She contemplated if she should tell the man or not. 

She sighed, “Room 2, go left, down the hall, and it’s the room to the right of the door labeled ‘storage’.”

He was moderately startled by the blond’s willingness to share the kid’s location, considering that the assassin is used to having to torture or threaten information out of people. Slade was pleased with the doctor and, in return, decided not to threaten her. No terrorizing warnings or menacing glares. 

Slade tipped his head in acknowledgment and shifted his body towards the door, internally eager to see the kid. Leslie eyed him, skeptical, and sat back down. Just as he was about to leave, the doctor stood up abruptly, making her chair jolt backward. Slade looked back at her.

The woman directed him a cold, intimidating glare, “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“Wouldn’t touch a hair on his head,” Slade reassured the doctor and walked out, closing the door behind him. 

Time to see the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa Slade and Jason's interaction in the next chapter!
> 
> updates every Friday!


	6. Born Alone and Die Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fell free to correct grammatical errors or unclear areas!

Slade followed the doctor’s directions to the room that contained the kid--left, down the hall, to the right of the storage room. He stopped in front of the plain door labeled, ‘Room 2’, but didn’t enter. Instead, the mercenary gawked, brows furrowed, deep in thought. 

The kid took a pretty damn bad beating. Did he know it was Slade that swooped down to save him? It, to an extent, mattered considering the kid’s reaction to Slade would vary wildly depending on the answer. But both ways, he was sure the kid would have dozens of questions for him. Slade wouldn’t mind Jason asking questions that he had straightforward answers to, but he knew  _ one  _ of the questions the kid will ask isn’t going to be anywhere near direct. And Slade didn’t have any type of answer, straightforward or not.

In terms of how pleased will Jason be to see Slade, the answer to that would most likely be… ‘passable’. Their relationship is more or less ‘I’ll shoot you if I’m hired to, but I also might help you if you’re about to be killed.’ Even then, it’s not much of a relationship, and they are more like acquaintances, being that they’ve only met a few times. Though as much as Slade thought their relationship is so-so, he couldn’t speak for the kid. 

Slade always tended to try to understand and expect all outcomes of fights, conversations, and interactions in general. Most of the time, he wanted to use it to manipulate others to his desire, and the kid seemed emotionally easy to manipulate. Though this time, the metahuman didn’t want to manipulate Jason in  _ any  _ way, and Slade didn’t have any grand plans to fulfill any time soon.

Even though he had no interest in exploiting the kid, he still had the urge to try to predict the kid’s behavior, but Slade shouldn’t waste time on something that would be useless. He didn’t need to exploit any of Jason’s skills, so he shouldn’t waste effort to understand the kid. 

Slade didn’t bother to knock; he didn’t want to wake the kid if he was sleeping anyway. He turned the doorknob and entered the room, gently shutting the door behind him. 

The kid was sprawled out on a bed with the light blankets only covering his lower body. Slade immediately noticed the cast that held together with the kid’s arm still and the fair-colored bandages spotted with blood that masked his forehead. Furthermore, Jason’s face was swollen and smothered with purple bruises.  _ Christ,  _ the kid looked so wounded. 

Even after Slade had lingered in front of the door for a few seconds, the kid didn’t take notice. The kid’s eyes were open and all, but he seemed… dazed. He was just staring off into space in his own little world. Well, at least the kid was still alive.

He wondered what would have happened to the kid if he hadn’t saved him.  _ God  _ , would he have died by the hands of Gotham’s ‘protector’? Or maybe Batman would have come to his senses and stopped.  _ No  _ . He would have never stopped. Batman was engulfed by rage to the point he’d beat  _ his  _ kid to the brink of death, so what would make  _ anyone  _ think he’d just ‘stop.’ 

He shook off the idea, no point in assessing ideas that will never occur. Slade made his way to one of the plastic chairs in the corner of the room and picked one up. He carried the chair closer to the kid and placed it down, facing the bed. Only when the chair hit the ground and made a low-pitched ‘thunk’ did the kid finally snap back to reality. 

The meta lowered himself onto the chair, and the kid whipped his head over. Jason looked petrified at first, but once he saw Slade, he flinched backward. 

The kid quickly collected himself and cleared his throat. “Didn’t take you for the visiting type.”

“I’m not, but I’ll make an exception.” 

The kid leaned against the metal rail guard with his good arm, placed his chin in his hand, and snorted dramatically. “Aww, how sweet. But I think we both know you don’t just visit to say ‘get well soon’ and give a fruit basket.”

Even when confined to a hospital bed, the kid couldn't resist making snarky comments. This behavior amused Slade, and maybe he even found it entertaining. 

“Maybe I’ve changed.” Slade entertained the idea and raised a brow. Speaking honestly, maybe he _ has  _ changed. He would have never thought he’d be visiting Red Hood or  _ saving  _ Red Hood for that matter. It was an unquestionably new and different behavior for the assassin, so  _ yes  _ , he’s changed. 

The kid lightly threw his head back and let out a booming laugh as if Slade had told the funniest joke. “You? Changed? Yeah, right, and I’m Jesus,” he joked, sarcastically, then paused, and in a second, completely wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with a stone-cold expression.

“What do you want, Slade?” 

Slade stared straight into the kid’s unwelcoming eyes and replied honestly, “From you? Nothing.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I know you’re the one who brought me here and nothin’ from you is free, so what do you want?”

Under normal circumstances, the kid would be right. Slade typically would demand payment for every little job, and it was not normal for Slade to go out of his way to save someone, and not only that, he didn’t even want anything from the kid, which was especially unlike Slade. 

“As I said, nothing,” Slade truthfully reassured, growling lowly. 

“Uh-huh, okay, how much money do you want? But just a warning, I’m pretty fucking broke, so don’t expect a lot,” the kid spoke incredulously, still finding space in his sentences for witty remarks. 

“Kid, I don’t need your money. I came to… answer questions.” Slade hesitated at the end, feeling a tad strange straying from his regular ‘asshole’ personality. 

“First, don’t fuckin’ call me ‘kid,’ I know that you already know my name, and second, what makes you think I have any questions?”

Slade stared, ignoring the kid’s request, “Sure kid whatever you say.” He stood up to leave and started heading towards the door. Slade wasn’t actually going to leave, he was sure the kid had at least one question, but the kid wouldn’t stop being a smartass. The kid had a knack for challenging every single damn thing that Slade said, although amusing, it was getting fuckin’ irritating. 

Jason’s eyes widened, and he jerked up, taking his arm off the railing, “Hey! --Hey! Where are you goin’?” Just as Slade anticipated, the kid shut his trap and started taking things more seriously. 

Slade paused and played along, “I’m leaving.” 

“Okay, fuck. Look, I didn’t say that I didn’t have any questions.” 

Slade smirked at his victory and sat back down. The kid slightly relaxed at this action and laid back against the bed. He didn’t say anything for a while and looked as if he was thinking. Slade waited patiently. 

Jason eventually grumbled out a few inaudible curses, then asked, “Who paid you to save me?” 

Slade responded almost immediately; it was an easy, straightforward answer. “Nobody.”

“Then why the fuck would you save me? Hell, I wouldn’t even want to save myself,” the kid asked the one unanswerable question and laughed a bit at his second remark.

The mercenary had kind of hoped that would be the last question Jason would ask, but it shouldn’t matter. Either way, Slade would have to answer it someday, he couldn’t avoid it forever. 

Slade inhaled, taking a long moment to answer. “I don’t know.” He mentally cringed at the sound of his reply. Deathstroke ‘the terminator’ saying ‘I don’t know’ was extremely rare, and he didn’t feel comfortable with those words in his mouth. It was just odd.

The kid snickered softly and raised his brows, astonished at the mercenary’s lack of knowledge. “You just said you were here to answer questions, and you can’t even answer the most obvious question?” The edge of Slade’s lip twitched, annoyed, he didn’t particularly enjoy the tone of the question. It sounded more mocking and rhetorical than like an actual question. 

Slade intensely growled, irritated at the comment. “Kid, I don’t know.” What else did the kid want him to say if he honestly didn’t know? He wasn’t the type to lie unnecessarily, so the truth was the next best answer. 

Jason clenched his jaw and motioned his finger towards Slade’s neck. “Call me ‘kid’ again, and I’ll rip out your fucking throat.” The kid glared at the older, lowered his brows, and bared his teeth. It was a cute attempt to intimidate Slade, however with all the kid’s injuries visible; hardly anybody would be scared by Jason’s threats. 

Slade laughed deeply, insulting the poor kid, and smirked. “I’m tempted to see you try, but with the damage, your  _ dad  _ did, I doubt you’d even be able to swing a punch.” Both of the men knew what he said was true; Jason couldn’t throw a punch, not without hurting himself, that is. 

The kid inhaled sharply and jerked back. His face drained of color, _ Jesus  _ , he looked almost… sad. He’s never seen the Red Hood like this, grim and unnerved. Slade obviously said something that struck a nerve, and Slade may or may not be feeling guilty. 

Jason’s head lowered, and he managed to mumble out, “Not my dad.” The kid's voice betrayed him, cracking and wavering. His words were unstable to the point where Slade could barely even make out what the kid said. 

“Hm?” By the time he had processed what the kid had meant, he had already let out a questioning hum. Slade somewhat wished he could take it back; it felt like he was rubbing salt into the wound. 

He also didn’t want to deal with some sobbing angsty teen, so it would have been better just to leave it. Slade mentally noted to avoid any topics dealing with ‘Batman’ and ‘dad’. He might as well add all the bats and anything having to do with the ‘Penguin shooting’ to the no-go list. 

The kid’s fists were clenched ‘till his knuckles were white, his body shaking. Jason roared, palpably triggered by the fact the Slade called Batman, ‘your dad’. “He’s not my fucking dad! He can go _ die  _ for all I care!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I don’t actually edit any chapters, what you’re reading is the rough draft with spell check.
> 
> Also, for the future, do you want:  
> 1) Bruce tries to fix relationship w/ Jason  
> 2) Bruce just acts like a complete piece of shit  
> 3) Or a mix/ random  
> Just asking cause ‘jason&bruce father&son’ soft emo moments kinda depend on the choices 
> 
> Updates every Friday!(though I might take a break next week)


	7. Wounds That Never Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I encourage you to point out errors or unclear areas!  
> And just so you know, I switch the POV every 2 chapters (Slade's POV for chapter 1&2 then Jason's POV for chapters 3&4, etc)

The kid’s fists were clenched ‘till his knuckles were white, his body shaking. Jason roared, palpably triggered by the fact the Slade called Batman, ‘your dad’. “He’s not my fucking dad! He can go _die_ for all I care!” 

\--

The raven could hear the venom lacing his words, but even then, somewhere deep down, they were just empty remarks. He could only _wish_ that Bruce would stop pretending to be his father, and he could only _wish_ that he’d not give a shit if B died. It was complicated, Bruce pretended like Jason was part of the family and acted as if he cared, but Jason knew that everyone either pitied him or wanted to fix him. As if he was _broken_. 

No matter the number of times Bruce has said, ‘I want to help you’ or ‘you’re part of the family,’ it has never made up for the unforgettable actions he had done to Jason. Jason knew it’s just a lie to boost the old man’s ego and make him feel like he was ‘fixing his failures’. That’s all Bruce thought of his ‘son’. Jason was just another failure to fix. 

Once he finishes ‘fixing’ poor, old street kid Jason, he’ll ignore him until Jason makes a mistake. Then Bruce will finally have an excuse to use his failure as a punching bag as if he didn’t have enough of those in Arkham. Apparently, being a dad stops when your son does something wrong. 

The big ol’ family man was a fucking lie. Or at least a lie to Jason. Goldie probably has never been _beaten to hell_ or had his throat _slit_ by Batman. The same applied to Replacement and Demon Brat. Though Jason has heard of Batman punching Dick in the face, yet somehow that didn’t compare to almost _dying_ by the hands of your supposed ‘dad’. 

Bruce was full of shit. 

Jason flopped back against the fluffy pillows right after his little fit; he needed to calm down. Slade didn’t even care about who was Jason’s dad or how much he cared about him. It would be more beneficial not to say anything, knowing that anything he’d say right now would come out as more anger. He didn’t want to set off his pit rage.

He was thankful that Slade kept silent, also waiting for Jason’s temper to settle. Jason quickly glanced at the reflective metal bed rail, checking if his eyes were glowing or not. He let out a pleased sigh and relaxed, comforted that his eyes were in their normal state. They just sat for a while, not saying anything, only breathing. It was mildly awkward, but for the most part, it was a comforting silence. 

Eventually, Jason had calmed down completely and thought it was safe enough to speak again. He only muttered out a short, “Sorry.” Slade wasn’t anyone to him, and Slade shouldn’t have to deal with Jason’s short temper. The mercenary barely even said anything insulting and had even saved the younger’s life just a few days ago, if anything, Jason should be thankful. 

“It’s fine, kid,” Slade replied, almost slurring out the ‘it’s.’ No anger was hinted in his voice and was seemingly unaffected by Jason’s anger outbreak. 

_Kid_ , Slade said it as if it were his real name and has yet to call Jason his actual name. Slade was one stubborn fucker. Jason groaned an elongated, “Fuck off.” He was already angry and Slade calling him ‘kid’ again didn’t help 

As awkward sounding as it was, he’d rather Slade call him ‘Red Hood’ than ‘kid’. Why was calling Jason by his real name so goddamn hard for Slade? He just had to call Jason, ‘kid.’ Jason wasn’t a kid. Kid Jason died, and he ain’t gonna come back. 

“Harsh for someone who just saved your ass. Also, you’re the one which required that I ask you for payment. Now you want me to leave?” The mercenary questioned, taking Jason’s ‘Fuck off’ literally. What he said was a good reminder for Jason that one, Slade saved him and two, he needs pay. 

Jason thought the older was right about being too ‘harsh’, Slade sucker-punched Batman and then continued to beat him up a bit. A pretty swell combo. Usually, Jason would be cheering on Slade while shouting ‘Fuck Batman’, but he was too busy dying. As exciting as that event was, he couldn’t help being in a shitty mood. So much has happened in the last few days and he was still processing all of it. He just lost two of his closest friends, got beat up by his dad, and got saved by the world’s deadliest assassin for no pay at that. Or at least Slade was claiming he didn’t want compensation. 

Slade’s not the type to lie, but he was also not someone that anyone would trust. Jason just didn’t want to be controlled through the debt later in life when everything goes to shit.

“Right. Sorry for being an indecisive bitch. I just couldn’t pick whether I wanted to tell you to ‘fuck off’ now or ‘fuck off’ later,” Jason half-assedly apologized. “And thank you for reminding me-- how much do you want?”

“ _None_.”

“Ha-ha-ha. good joke,” Jason deadpanned. “I grew up in the Crime Alley. I know that nothin’ goes without pay.” 

Jason had grown up most of his adolescent life on the streets of Gotham, Park Row. It was a place where all debt bit you in your ass, eventually, not fun. Jason himself had some personal experience with debt in the crime ally, and as much as you tried to avoid paying back, they’d always find you. They being whomever you had taken from or got a favor from. 

Not only would they hunt you down, but they would also add interest the longer you took or beat you up. And If you died with unpaid debt, it would be passed to your family, and even to your lone, homeless son. In summary, no debt goes unpaid, no matter if you're inside or outside of the Crime Alley. It’s just business. 

Slade took a short moment, then countered, “Well then, take it as a returned favor.”

“But I haven’t done anything for you,” the raven blurted out, not recalling any favors he did for the other. 

The metahuman raised a brow. “When we met, you backed me up.”

It would have been a good offer except for the fact that the favor was kind of a returned favor. “Yeah, well, _when we met_ , that was the payment for when you decided to not leave me unconscious on that roof after your friend decided to shoot a fucking RPG at me.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , kid, stop bitching and take the damn favor.” At this point, Slade sounded like he was demanding Jason. It was fair, though, Jason can be… difficult sometimes. 

Though as much as he wanted to take it--as he learned from the Crime Ally: no debt goes unpaid. In addition to that, Slade had done Jason a pretty significant favor, and those especially don’t go without pay. 

“Uh-huh, what’s the catch? Or should I just wait for you to pop up one-day demanding help, using this ‘favor’ as leverage?” 

“Kid, when would I want your help when there are so many other options?”

What Slade said was logical. Not going to a bat--or former bat--for help, as an assassin, was practically common sense if you didn't want to get locked up. Maybe less so if the bat was a known crime lord and killer, but even then, as Slade said, there were so many other options. 

Even though Jason knew it was true, he still has to reply with a smartass remark as if it were his second nature. “I dunno, you don’t seem like you have any willing friends that’d help or any friends at all.” There was always satisfaction in witty remarks. When he made death jokes in front of the bats, they’d get all tense and tell him not to, but there was satisfaction in just creating the quip. In a way, they made him feel peachier than usual. 

Jason observed the other, Slade twitching in annoyance, and Slade’s not the type to show emotions. It was a win for Jason, and at this point, he felt better than before Slade had come to visit. 

Slade hummed with a slight growl, “Hm, I don’t recall you being so irritating.” 

“Thanks, it’s the four broken ribs.” Jason shot him a fake, tight grin and motioned towards the bandages around his chest. 

He had the urge to add in the other plethora of injuries but refrained from doing so, as he didn’t want to seem weaker in front of Deathstroke then he already was. Not because of his pride--he already lost that--but because you're usually not supposed to out yourself to your known enemies. It would be like saying, ‘I have a cracked clavicle if you ever want to subdue me then aim for the collar bone’ and currently he wasn’t entirely sure if Slade was an ally. 

Slade looked taken aback as if he were shocked at the number of broken bones. He didn’t reply, his brows furrowed as he scanned over Jason’s body. Slade didn’t say anything for a long time, almost scaring the younger. Slade killed people every day but seemed surprised that Jason broke a few bones. This was a look Jason had not seen on Slade, one with emotion and a reaction. Interesting. 

Slade instantaneously darted his eye back to Jason’s eyes and with all seriousness, asked, “ _Jason_ , do you need to get out of Gotham?” His voice was firm; he wasn’t joking. And, for the _first_ time, used Jason’s name.

The change in the atmosphere made Jason speak honestly without any witty jokes. “I--” he started but paused abruptly. “I guess. The old man probably wants to stick me into Arkham Asylum or somethin’. I’m surprised he hasn’t already come stomin’ in the clinic.”

Slade gave him a look, acknowledging, and looked at if he had something on his mind. The mercenary took a deep breath and was silent for a minute before offering a deal, “Alright, kid, we both want out of Gotham. I’ll sneak you out, and once you’re all healed up, you can pay me back for _everything_ if you do some of my jobs.” 

Jason pressed his lips together; he was intrigued at the offer. “And you’d trust me with your million-dollar jobs,” he scoffed under his breath. 

“No. I wouldn’t. You’ll work under me to assist or be bait,” Slade said.

It was a good deal. The Bat was out for him and wants to send him to either Arkham, Blackgate, or the cave, none of which are pleasant. Slade also had to get out of Gotham after punching Batman and all so that it might benefit them both. Jason wouldn’t be able to get out of Gotham without assistance in this state, and the longer he stays, the more likely he’ll be caught. 

Jason also needed to pay Slade back. Helping with Slade’s jobs didn’t seem horrible; he did have experience in being bait. Plus, running with Deathstroke might give him a place to lay low. However, the deal didn’t help Slade too much. He’d be paid back, but Jason would still be extra ‘baggage’. 

“Cool. Robin, but with guns,” Jason joked, lamely. 

“Whatever _you_ want it to be, kid.” _God fuck_ , that bastard was back to using ‘kid’.

Slade stared intently into his eyes, expecting a real answer. In response, Jason dipped his head, running his fingers through his greasy hair. There was a long pause.

Leaving Gotham. His home. Even though Gotham has never given back to him, he still loved her. She was the definition of familiar. It was the one place he always thought of as his home. But Jason didn’t have much of a choice. Confinement or Fleeing. But it’s not permanent, _right_? Yeah, he’ll come back later. 

“Okay, deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there were a lot of mixed opinions for the question in the last chapter, and there were many great ideas. Thus, I’ll probably try to mix them all a bit and use some logic to stick em together. 
> 
> Also, this is my first time writing a fic(I can’t even remember the last time a wrote narratively), so this is all new to me; therefore, I wanted to ask: is the pacing, in general, too fast or kinda wack? 
> 
> Update days might vary as I’m trying to find a better day to update than Friday! (most likely with be Mondays or Sundays)


	8. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than normal! Enjoy!

Fuck. Staying with Slade Wilson. He'd be lying if he’d said he wasn’t looking forward to it. However, he wasn’t necessarily excited about it. Then again, anything is better than Arkham. 

Jason would be like a partner or a sidekick again--Slade made it sound more like a sidekick than partner--which is not particularly bad, but he wasn’t known for obeying orders. During his time as Robin, some would say he was reckless, which may be an overstatement but in the future, Jason will try his best to not stray from orders. Well, Slade being Slade, he would probably kill you if you don’t obey him, which is pretty damn different from Batman spending an hour lecturing you. 

After going out as an independent or part of a team, it felt weird to take a few steps back. It may just be the fact that Jason was labeling his new to-be position as ‘sidekick,’ which makes it seem a little unpleasing. This time he could label the position as ‘helper’ or ‘just-in-case person,’ but he can’t know till he actually finds out what exactly he is going to be doing. 

As much as Jason was contemplating his future, he would be out of service for the next few weeks. Leslie said around five weeks, but Jason wasn’t going to listen to that advice. Even using all his will power, he’ll probably start up again at three or four weeks. Risky, and he was relying too much on his ‘I heal faster than most’ thing left from the Lazurus pit. 

The thing he was most concerned about was the people he would be killing. 

He’s been a mercenary before, but Slade’s seems like he got down the ‘I don’t care who I kill’ part of being a mercenary. If the younger were to follow the methods of Slade, he’d practically become an assassin. He was concerned that he would be killing innocent people, and he won’t get a say. Jason’s okay with the whole shooting bad people thing, not like he hasn’t done it before. But this time would he be helping the greater good and just be shooting  _ bad  _ people? 

That was what always fueled him during his beginning as Red Hood. He wanted to be there for the people and the community. Better than batman. Jason wanted to be more effective than batman. But now he was on the road to being a semi-villain. Injuring people he doesn’t even know about. For all he would know, they could be just some person who is meddling in other business or some politician making new laws that would disrupt some crime lord’s money flow. 

Jason only had to stay for a few jobs until he paid Slade back. Then he can leave and forget about all that shit. And hey, working with Slade, judging from his past experience, was hella more fun than working with a 24/7 brooding Batman. All Jason had to do is look on the bright side and try not to get himself killed or imprisoned. It should be pretty simple since that’s all he’s been doing his whole life.

Jason heard the drowned out chattering of Slade and Leslie outside the door of the room. After Jason agreed to the deal, Slade left to speak with the doctor. Presumably, about when Jason could be moved out of the bed. Sooner was better than later with the Bat out and about. 

Jason hoped he could leave today or tomorrow. It felt like his blood was itching to leave. He just couldn’t stay. He felt fearful. Not only that, but Leslie’s clinic is also one of the most obvious places to search. Without doubt, Leslie would shoo Batman away, but he was one persistent bitch. 

Most of the time, when he gets into fights with Bruce, verbal or physical, he flees almost immediately. Sometimes it’s to heal and others; it’s to prevent himself from going pit-crazy. During those times, he would recuperate, train, and try not to kill anybody. He’d stay off-grid for a while, though even then if Bruce wanted to find Jason, he could. 

Bruce has never sought out his son unless it was to lock him up or something similar. Whenever Bruce called, it’s always about a job, ‘do you have information on this or that?’. Well, not always. Sometimes it’s about Red Hood; if he’s been going by the rules or the bat clan needs help. ‘Did you kill this person?’ or ‘Get to this location now!’. But even when Bruce does ask for Red Hood’s help, Hood is Batman’s last choice. 

From time to time, little kid Jason visits his mind, making Jason wish Bruce would visit him, not for business, but just to ask how he was doing. Little Jason sometimes makes Jason sad that Bruce is not his dad anymore and brings up past memories that he never even knew he had. But now Jason isn’t the kid Bruce wants. 

The door opened, and a small gust of wind hit Jason’s face, bringing his attention to the entrance. Slade walked in and sat in the chair he had moved over earlier. 

Jason sat up in a jerking motion.“What’d she say?” He asked eagerly. 

“She said you’re healing up well. You can be moved today, be careful, no fighting, and she’ll give you some medicine for the pain,” Slade revealed. 

The edges of Jason’s lips perked up, he was elated, “Awesome. Can we go now then?”

“Already planned for it, kid.” The mercenary held up a black duffle bag by the straps that looked stuffed. “Hope you like Bludhaven.”

Bludhaven? For one, Bludhaven is too close to Gotham in Jason’s opinion. He was hoping for somewhere further, like Star City or Central City, heck, even Metropolis would do. Even though they both have well-known heroes roaming around, they both are better picks than Bludhaven. Batman could just hop in his Batplane and be in Bludhaven in no time. On top of that, Batman has a free pass to roam around in Bludhaven, and with Dick there, it’s practically bat territory. 

“You do know Bludhaven’s only _ thirty minutes  _ from Gotham?” Jason questions with a raised brow. He was sure that Slade already knows, but Jason is fishing for the reason or maybe a say in the decision. 

Slade gave the younger an unamused look. “Kid, I’ve got a job there, and you’re not in a state to travel long distances.” 

Valid. Jason does feel weak. Through his wait in the clinic, he has been able to walk from his bed to the bathroom, and sometimes he could go out to the backdoor and take a whiff of that signature polluted Gotham smell. He hasn’t been able to get a smoke-- Leslie would probably throw them out if she found them-- so smelling the Crime Alley’s air sufficed. 

The point is, even when he just took short strolls around, Jason felt lethargic. His ribs ached, and his body always had the urge to sleep, even when Jason didn’t actually want to. To add to that,  _ allegedly  _ , he’s been fainting mid-way through his walks. Essentially, Jason’s wounds have had only a few days to heal, just the thought of traveling felt tiring, and  _ hypothetically  _ , he didn’t want to faint on Slade. 

“Great. What ‘bout Nightwing?” Jason asked with a sarcastic tone, rolling his eyes. 

Another reason that Bludhaven is not Jason’s top pick is that Nightwing is there, who was a dedicated bat. Thus, he was also someone that Jason would prefer to avoid. If they happened to meet, Nightwing would most likely apprehend Jason, knowing that he’s probably seen the stunt Jason pulled on live TV. Though Goldie might not know that Jason has somewhat teamed up with Slade Wilson, and from experience, Bruce has yet to tell Goldie any crucial details of their altercation. Important information being: Deathstroke saving him and Bruce almost killing his ‘son’. 

The shot being a  _ blank  _ might also be important… 

But hey, Batman’s the one who basically went by a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ policy. No ‘What happened?’ or ‘What did you do?’, just a punch to the face, followed by a beating. 

Slade breathed out a scoff and replied, “We’ll only be there for a few days, as long as you don’t get yourself caught, he won’t know we’re there.” 

“Why would I get ca--” Jason stopped mid-sentence, knowing that arguing with Slade was futile. 

“I- fine, any chance that she has my gear?” The raven gave up any attempt to defend himself and changed the topic. Jason was aware that half of his gear was either lost or damaged, but maybe he could salvage the pants or boots. What? Not everyone has access to daddy’s money. 

“Already in the bag,” Slade replied and unzipped the duffle bag. He riffled through the bag, pulling out a folded black t-shirt and Jason’s bloody tactical pants that he wore when he had shot the Penguin. The older then tossed the clothing onto Jason’s lap. “Get dressed.” 

Slade dropped Jason’s Red Hood boots on the floor, next to the bed. They looked scuffed and soaked in blood but otherwise were in a wearable condition. After, Slade stood up, gripped the duffle bag, and began walking out.

“Kay boss, whatever ya’ say,” Jason mocked into the distance, increasing his volume as Slade got farther. 

Jason struggled more than usual to get dressed. Every time he bent over or crouched, he’d feel a sharp pain in his chest, which was not convenient when putting on clothes. The chore was time-consuming, but eventually, he successfully wore the clothing correctly. 

The shirt looked clean and was oversized. The t-shirt’s sleeves almost reached Jason’s elbows, and the shirt itself extended to his mid-thigh. The large fit made him assume they were Slade’s. Jason wished he didn’t have to wear the bloody pants and shoes as they brought back shitty memories. But he can’t walk around half-naked, so he sucked it up and tried to think about other things. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, and as he was tugging on his boots, Leslie walked in. She was carrying a small white paper bag, which he assumed contained medicine. She approached him and sat on the chair that Slade neglected next to the bed. 

“Here you go, Jason,” Leslie said as she handed over the bag. “Just in case you experience any pain,” She smiled softly.

He looked at her and smiled back. “Thanks, doc.”

“No problem. Make sure to change the bandages regularly and don’t stress out your ribs,” Leslie paused. “I’m sorry you have to leave. We’ll miss you.”

Jason assumed ‘we’ was referring to the people in the Crime Alley. Being honest, he’d miss them too. During the time that he patrolled the Crime Alley, he’s gotten to know some of the street kids and working girls. They knew him also; they’d greet him and chat with him. It was nice being part of the community. 

Jason would miss Leslie. She never approved of his lifestyle, but she was always there for him then and now. Leslie was someone who he was comfortable to talk with and was someone he trusted the most. 

Slade jogged into the room with the duffle bag strung around his body, in a rush to leave before sunrise. “Alright, kid, think you can ride a motorcycle?” 

Jason hummed, weighing his odds of surviving. Slade probably wasn’t going to let him ride in the front, and he doubted that just simple sitting would hurt. Jason glanced over to Leslie, who wore a worried expression but didn’t protest the idea. “Dunno, guess we’ll find out soon,” he eventually said. 

The raven propelled himself off the bed with a small grunt and steadied his footing. He started trailing behind Slade, who was heading for the back door or the clinic. 

Jason halted and turned to Leslie, who was still stationed on the chair. “See ya’ doc.”

“Goodbye, Jason. Be careful,” Leslie cautioned, waving slowly at Jason. He gave her a reassuring grin and went back to following Slade. 

\--

Once Slade and Jason were outside, they were met with a gorgeous black motorcycle that looked modified to the mercenary’s likings.

“Here,” Slade threw him a matching black helmet. 

Jason twirled it around in his hands and chuckled. “Not my style, got somethin’ in red?” 

Slade hoisted himself onto the bike, ignoring the comment for a moment. “Whether you wear it or not, isn’t  _ my  _ concern, kid.” Jason snickered, pulled on the helmet, and sat behind Slade. He glanced around the bike, searching for places to grab onto. Jason’s search was unsuccessful, and as  _ awkward  _ as it was, he was left with the only option of holding onto Slade. He wrapped his arms around Slade’s midsection and tried to avoid a full-blown brace against Slade. 

But of course, Slade just  _ had  _ to drive the motorcycle at the highest speed possible with the sharpest fucking turns. For some reason, it felt like this was Slade’s way of mocking Jason. 

Anyway, to summarize, due to Slade’s ‘enthusiastic’ steering, Jason ended up clenched around Slade’s back, holding on for his dear life.

_ Fucker. _


	9. Never Disappear

Slade was troubled. He didn’t know what part of him thought the deal was a good offer for him. Then again, the meta didn’t know a lot of things these days. Though he wasn’t necessarily re-thinking his decision, he was more questioning why he made that particular deal. Slade could have easily just made the kid pay him a fixed amount once a month, or what would have been more beneficial would be to offer Red Hood to various people and see who would pay the most. Surely some supervillain wants to torture the kid. 

Slade decided that he’d be nice and let the kid stay in one of his fancier safehouses. He wouldn’t have brought the kid to this particular safehouse If he weren’t injured. Most of his safehouses in the city required climbing to get as they were all suites or apartments, but this one was in a higher-end area that would for sure have a working elevator. He was already dealing with an annoying kid, and he wouldn’t want to carry the kid up the stairs or have him fainting left and right. Therefore it was only natural to use a more reliable, expensive safehouse. 

Just to be careful, Slade drove through multiple narrow alleys--turns sharp as ever-- rather than using the main roads. Wouldn’t want to be spotted by a little birdie. Though it was already dawn and the particular bird in Bludhaven only chirps at night. 

Slade slowed down the bike when he spotted the building where his safe house was located. The building was tall and had a clean, white exterior, topped with large, seemingly blue-tinted windows. The area around mainly contained other expensive apartment buildings making his building look almost identical to the others.

Just passing by the front, Slade could see the security cameras bolted above the large glass entrance doors. He wasn’t the type to go through the front door anyway. Instead, Slade drove around to the back of the building where the garbage and the alternative entrance were located. Luckily the alley was secluded and only faced the grimy backs of the neighboring apartment buildings. 

The mercenary stopped just to the right of the plain back door and forcefully kicked down the stand on the motorcycle, making the bike jolt up. 

Immediately after, the kid released his suffocating hold on Slade’s waist and shouted, “Fucker! You did that on purpose!” His finger pointed at Slade accusingly. 

The older got off the bike, looked at Jason with a smug smirk plastered across his face, and played dumb, “Did what?”

Slade fully knew what the kid was referring to-- his driving. Which in Slade’s defense, driving fast and sharply, is normally how he operates, but he should have driven less erratically considering that he had an injured kid aboard. However, after he met Jason and experienced his smartass personality, Slade decided that, in retaliation, he’d be passive-aggressive. 

Jason’s fist clenched in anger in anger, and Slade could just feel the glare from behind the shaded glass of the helmet’s eyeshield. “The--” he attempted to clarify but stopped. The kid let out a sharp, scoff-like breath and looked away from Slade, “Nevermind, let’s just go.”

The dizzy kid stumbled off the motorcycle, swaying side to side. Still wavering, the kid yanked off his helmet, tossing it in Slade's direction. Slade spontaneously caught the object and held it against his body with his forearm. During the process of stumbling, the kid tripped his own feet and didn’t react as gravity pulled him down. Being injured, nauseous, and loaded on pain killers didn’t help his reflexes. 

Before the kid could land splat on his face and break his nose, Slade used his unoccupied arm to scoop him up from the waist, setting the kid upright. The mercenary then took a fist of Jason’s shirt collar and pulled the younger as a mother cat would her kits. Slade forced the kid to the wall of the building, sitting him down on the floor.

“Christ, kid. You’re a damn handful,” Slade commented. Now, he was seriously rethinking his decision. Slade underestimated how difficult the kid would be, and he’d have to be a babysitter till Jason healed, which was proving to be demanding. 

Jason groaned and coughed a few times; his head hung low. He massaged his temples, making a small, “Mmm,” sound. Slade would admit that it was partially his fault for driving wildly, but it was too entertaining to see the kid so aggravated. Maybe not as fun to drag around a two-hundred-pound of pure muscle child. But the kid was strong; he’d recover. 

Slade went over the “Stay.”

Slade needed to check if there was anyone around; the fewer witnesses, the better. And the kid needed to stay on his ass and not stumble around like a damn drunk. 

The kid rolled his eyes and exasperatedly sighed. “What am I? A dog?” He asked rhetorically with an annoyed expression. 

“No,” Slade corrected. He paused before finishing his answer, “A dog would be more useful than you.”

A scoff from the younger. “Fuck you,” Jason sneered, too tired to make another smartass joke. He drew his gaze to the ground and ignored the other.

The meta waited for a second and repeated his original command, his voice stern, “Stay put.” The tone of the words contained a given ‘or else’ vibe without actually explicitly saying it. 

He turned and cracked the door open, peeping through the crack. Nobody. The brightly lit halls were empty, and no cameras were insight. Slade walked inside, keeping close to the wall. Long panels of warmly stained wood covered the floor, which fit well with the similarly colored doors and mid-toned walls. 

Located midway through the hall were the elevators. He went over and pressed the ‘up’ button. Instantaneously, the elevator door slid open, indicating it was not in use. Slade then inspected the inside of the elevator for cameras: it was clean. He slid back to the door in which he had entered and opened it. The kid was still resting on the ground and thankfully didn’t get abducted. 

Slade propped his foot against the door, held it open, and whispered-shouted, “Come on, kid. Get up.” 

Jason obeyed and pushed himself off the ground, being careful not to trip again. He went through the door, which Slade was holding open without any complaints. Slade removed his foot from the edge of the door, and it automatically shut behind them. He walked in front of the kid, leading him to the elevator. 

Since Slade had to take time to grab the kid, the elevator doors had closed. Slade pushed the ‘up’ button again; it glowed a yellow-white color, and soon after, the metal door slid open. He stepped inside the box and placed his hand over the elevator’s door frame to make sure it wouldn’t close. Jason tailed behind. 

Slade took his hand off the frame and selected the highest floor. They were both silent as they watched the floor number increase. Once they reached the desired level, Slade led the way through the hall to his apartment’s door. The door looked exactly like all the others with only the two silver numbers ‘27’ under the peep-hole to differentiate it. 

The mercenary took off the duffle bag that hung off his body and fished out a single metal key from one of the smaller side compartments. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

Slade shifted to the side and motioned to the inside of his apartment, “Ladies first.” He wore a smirk, taunting the younger. In response, the kid narrowed his eyes and threw up his middle finger at Slade but eventually strode inside. Slade followed, shut, and locked the door behind him. 

“Holy fuck, you sure this is yours?” Jason questioned, taken aback. His eyes were wide and scanned around the apartment. Did the kid think he lived like a slob or something? 

Slade’s safehouse was a modern-styled spacious single bedroom apartment with an open kitchen, living space, and one full bathroom; there even was a balcony. One whole wall only contained windows while the others were colored a solid white. Most of the furnishing’s colors were mainly white, gray, or black. The large white granite island separated the kitchen from the living room that was home to a light gray l-shaped couch and a simple rectangle coffee table. The apartment was only equipped with necessities and lacked unnecessary decor, making it look as if it was unused or came out of a home catalog. 

Slade raised his brow in curiosity, “Did you expect something different?” He set the duffle bag on the island, keeping the key in his left hand. 

The kid eyed the kitchen and opened the fridge, inspecting the inside and made a disgusted face before closing it again. He then replied, “Thought someone like you would live in a cheaper place.”

“Someone like me?” Slade echoed with a low growl. There was nobody like him, and the kid should know by now that Slade makes a significant amount of money off his jobs. What makes the kid think he’d live in some ratty place if he was rich? 

“You know, burly, old, graying. Or grayed, in your case.” Jason paused to sit down on one of the bar stools that lined the side of the island. “Just thought you’d only spent money on weapons,” he assumed. Part of the kid’s argument was valid, he did spend lots of money on his equipment, but Slade’s not just any ‘old man’. 

Slade ignored the kid’s assumption; instead, he rattled off another order, “Stay inside. I’ll be back.” He needed to move his motorcycle to a more secure location for the day. 

Jason rolled his eyes and leaned his head against his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get the gist.”

The mercenary left the apartment building, careful not to be seen by residents departing for work. He trusted that Jason wouldn’t blow up the safehouse during his thirty-minute leave, though the word ‘trust’ was a little too extreme. It was more of a ‘hope’ than ‘trust’.

\--

After Slade moved the bike to a more secure location nearby, he re-entered his safe house through the bedroom window since he didn’t have the kid with him. It was no doubt a quicker method, and the particular window didn’t face any main roads, so there was a lower chance of him being seen. 

When Slade entered the apartment, it was remarkably silent, which instantly alarmed him. He stood outside the bedroom door and swept his eye over the area, just at a glance, it seemed like the kid disappeared. The kid wouldn't run away.  _ Christ _ , did he already get abducted? 

Slade furrowed his brows and walked farther into the central space of the apartment. That was when he spotted a body laid out on the living room rug. It was the kid; he was sound asleep, curled up on his side. What irked Slade was the fact that the couch was only three steps away from the area where the kid fell asleep. Did Jason find it that difficult to move to the couch before dozing off?

Slade sauntered over to the kid, picked him up, and set him on the couch. The kid stirred slightly but didn’t wake up. The mercenary then grabbed a soft knit blanket from the linen closet and arranged it on top of Jason. The blanket was large, engulfing the younger. Pleased with his work, Slade shut the window blinds and left the kid to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatcha think? 
> 
> Updates probably on Mondays 12 pm pacific time?


	10. Warzone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out grammatical mistakes or unclear areas!

Slade sat at the granite island, working out the logistics of his upcoming job. It was more difficult than usual to concentrate; _Christ_ , it was most definitely the kid. Though Jason was asleep, he was making soft whines and grunts. After trying to ignore the sound for the past hour, Slade finally looked over at the couch where the kid was. 

The kid had a pained expression on his face, and there was visible sweat lacing his forehead. He had sweat so much that his raven hair stuck to his face, it was alarming. Jason was having a nightmare. 

Slade tried to turn back to his work, convincing himself that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t affected emotionally by the kid’s suffering. It didn’t work. He used all his will power to stare at the laptop screen in front of him, but he wasn’t completing any work. Slade was just staring while listening to Jason’s muffled cries. It was _painful_ to ignore, but Slade didn’t care, right? 

“AAAGH!” The kid abruptly shrieked, followed by a loud ‘thud’. It was the most deafening shout Slade’s heard come from the kid yet; it was the last straw. The mercenary gave up his ‘I don’t care’ act, jumped off the stool he was seated in and rushed over. The kid had fallen off the couch and was crouched in a fetal on the floor; the blanket from earlier strewn across the floor. Jason rapidly gasped for air, covered both of his ears with his forearms, and tightly laced his hands behind his head. 

Slade had never comforted anyone before, so he honestly didn’t know how to help; he just awkwardly stood next to the kid. Thoughts ran through his head, he wasn’t the most into hugging, and he didn’t want to just stand around, he was clueless. How the hell did normal people deal with this type of stuff? 

Eventually, Slade reasoned to quietly sit next to the boy. He lowered himself onto the floor to the left of the kid and rested his back against the front of the couch. He sat a good foot or two away from Jason to avoid startling him. 

After a moment, the older placed a firm grip on Jason’s shoulder; the kid’s head jerked to Slade. Slade was taken aback. _Jesus_ , the kid looked _horrified_ , his eyes blown wide, glowing Lazarus green, his face wet with tears and sweat, parts of his hair glued to his face due to the copious amounts of sweat. It was _devastating_ to witness. 

Almost immediately, Jason whipped his head back to its original place, hiding his face from Slade. The kid didn’t seem to reject Slade’s form of comfort, so Slade kept his hand on the younger’s shoulder. 

“Do you need to take any medicine?” Slade asked softly and slowly, trying to sound calm.

The kid jerkily shook his head so Slade left it alone and just sat there for a while. Several minutes passed, and they didn’t speak a word to each other; however, it wasn’t awkward. 

Jason looked like this was a regular re-occurring event, which made Slade especially curious about what the dream depicted. Slade would admit that he’s experienced the type of nightmare the kid suffered from. Slade never got them regularly, but they appeared from time to time. Sometimes he saw his son’s death, him stabbing Joseph, arguments with Grant. Other times Slade saw his family yelling at him, Adeline shooting him, the scientist torturing him.

Slade heard a few times that the second robin died by the hands of the Joker, and the Joker is a sadistic fuck. Thus, the Joker probably tortured the young robin before killing him off. Was that what the kid had dreamed about? His death? Slade remembered that Jason’s ‘dad’ just beat him up a few days ago, and that would traumatize most people. But who knows, Slade could only guess the theme of the kid’s dreams. 

Soon enough, the kid calmed down, and Slade grew bored. He started flicking Jason’s hair at the back of his neck as a source of entertainment. Slade raised his brow at the notice of a nasty-looking scar that ran across the other’s neck. It looked like a wound that could kill, but the kid was alive, so he clearly got better. The kid didn’t have enhanced healing, so it would’ve been one messy cleanup. Slade was impressed that the raven lived through that injury without bleeding out and dying. 

Still, a foot apart, Slade continued to mindlessly play with the kid’s hair, twirling and caressing the soft curls. After some time, Jason moved his hand to lightly push away Slade’s fingers. In response, Slade withdrew his hand and patted the kid’s upper back, just below the neck.

“Go shower, kid,” Slade said and stood up. The kid didn’t comment but gave a curt nod.

The mercenary stepped into the bathroom, knelt down, opened the cabinet below the sink, and pulled out a fuzzy white bath towel. He placed it next to the sink, moved over to the shower, and turned the water to a warm setting. When Slade got back to the living room, the kid was still collecting himself, but in time, he got up and trudged to the bathroom. Slade heard the bathroom door shut and turned back to his job. 

Slade felt a little better continuing his work now; he was content. The mercenary tried to tell himself that he felt better because the kid wasn’t disturbing his work with noise. But he knew that the real reason he felt better was that Jason wasn’t suffering anymore. Slade shouldn’t be content with those emotions and feelings; he was a villain for christ’s sake. He should be finding happiness in the kid’s pain, but no, he felt sickened by Jason’s suffering. It _hurt_. 

It didn’t just metaphorically hurt, which would have been easier to ignore; it brought chest pains. As if his heart was breaking from the sad sight. Slade wished he could go back to being heartless because then he wouldn’t feel responsible to assist the kid, which was, no doubt, an illogical decision. Slade had weighed the pros and cons before; there were nearly no pros. Thus, if it didn’t pain Slade to simply leave Jason alone, he would, or he _thinks_ he would.

Did Slade like his new and ‘improved’ self? _Jesus_ , no. His new self brought a great extent of confusion and emotions he never thought he would be able to experience. It made Slade rethink his whole existence as a villain and a father. Why hadn’t he felt this before with his own children? If he did, in fact, have emotions, then how did he last as an assassin for so long? 

Slade had manipulated his children to become closer to him, and he had done the most morally questionable things to protect them. But with the kid, he acted like a semi-normal human and simply comforted Jason. Slade hadn’t manipulated the kid; he didn’t exploit the kid, he did everything so… normally. So selflessly. 

It was decided. Now, the kid _officially_ was a liability. Slade worried for Jason, and that never goes well in the mercenary business. The second the kid’s in danger, Slade knew he would drop everything and anything to protect the younger. Speaking professionally, that scenario would get him killed and it would never happen if he didn’t care about the boy in the first place. Unfortunately, since Slade did care for Jason, that was a possible scenario that was bound to happen one day. Emotions, in general, would get Slade killed. He’s already been getting unnecessarily injured over the kid, and only time will tell when Slade’ll get himself killed for the kid. 

Slade still didn’t know why he never treated his children like he treated Jason.

The mercenary almost forgot that he had a job, and as much as the question was important, so was his work. This time Slade actually completed some work, doing research on his next target and keeping track of Buldhaven’s birdie, Nightwing. Slade made sure to plan his job so that at that moment, he would be nowhere near Nightwing’s regular patrol route. 

Slade’s concentration was interrupted by the bathroom door cracking open. The kid’s head poked out the bathroom, “Hey, uh, could I get some clean clothes?” Jason still seemed on edge after his nightmare and was less witty than before at the clinic. Definitely easier to deal with but not as entertaining. 

“Sure,” Slade replied with an unintentional growl. He shut his laptop and went over to the bedroom. All of his safehouses were equipped with a copious amount of clean clothes and necessities like all safehouses should. All the lounging clothes were identical, perfectly folded inside the dresser, pitch-black sweatpants, sweatshirts, and t-shirts. It definitely made choosing outfits effortless. 

Slade stacked one of each type of clothing in a pile and also threw in a pair of matching boxers, which he wasn’t sure would even fit the kid. The meta carried the stack of clothes to the bathroom and carefully knocked on the door with the back of his knuckles. 

Jason cracked open the door again, letting out a stream of hot mist. He eyed the stack of clothes in Slade's hand and opened the door a crack more to pull clothes into the bathroom. After receiving the clothing, the kid immediately harshly shut the door.

“No ‘thank you’ ?” Slade questioned while facing the closed door, feeling a tad offended. _Jesus_ , millennials these days, especially the vigilante type, don’t have _any_ manners. 

“Go fuck yourself!” The kid shouted through the door. Well, at least the kid’s feistiness was coming back sooner than Slade expected. He didn’t know if he should be proud, disappointed, or amused.

\--

Eventually, Jason came out of the bathroom, clothes sagging off his smaller frame. The sweatshirt’s sleeves engulfed the kid’s arms, falling a few inches past the tip of his finger. The same applied to the sweatpants, the pant legs dropped beyond his heel, the extra fabric scrunching up against the floor; it might have helped if the kid bothered to adjust the sweatpant’s drawstring tie. 

Slade noticed that the kid was pinching together the extra fabric around the waist of the boxers with his hand, preventing them from falling down. Jason glanced at the waistband of the boxers then at Slade. “Happen to have a safety pin or a sewing kit?” 

Slade pondered for a moment. He probably did have a safety pin lying around, but he didn’t know the exact location, and searching for a few tiny safety pins would prove to be futile. However, he did, to an extent, have a sewing kit. The mercenary motioned his eyes over to the open bathroom door, “Help yourself to the suture kit under the sink.”

Jason understood which sink Slade was referring to, nodded, and wandered back to the bathroom. 

“Thanks.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the next few chapters will be a real slow burn so yeahhh  
>   
> I’m thinking about starting another fic that includes Jason, bat fam, time travel, angst, and fluff, which is not very descriptive but I hope you’ll check it out (if I do decide to write it)! And I also wanna write a cuddle fic with literally just pure fluff.


	11. No Home

Jason felt like he had some obligation to explain what happened earlier with his little nightmare. He was living on Slade’s dime, and explaining what had happened seemed like a courtesy. Slade probably wouldn’t give a shit, but Jason approached the meta anyway. 

Slade was sitting at the counter, back at work, this time cleaning his weapons. Jason sat in the barstool next to the Slade and swerved the stool to face away from the counter. Jason could tell that the older was curious about what was wanted, narrowing his eye, and watching the reflection of Jason in his sword.

Jason was the one who broke the silence, “‘bout earlier--” 

Slade immediately cut him off, “Kid, you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s not my business.” Jason was surprised Slade didn’t want to even listen to his explanation. Jason assumed that even if Slade didn’t care, he’d still want to know every bit of information. But that wasn’t the case. Not only that, Slade claimed it ‘wasn’t his business’, but, in fact, it was. Jason was staying with Slade and was going to be working for Slade, so it would be his business to know Jason’s handicaps. 

Though instead of saying all that, Jason didn’t argue much, and only raised his brow, “Really? Just like that?”

Slade put down the sword that he was holding and replied, “Sure. But I do have some rules to address.”

_ Jesus fuck _ , not only will he have to be bait like Robin, he’d have to obey rules like Robin. Slade wasn’t as stuck up and antiquated as Batman, so Jason hoped that the rules weren’t three pages long Times New Roman, size 12, single space. ‘Hope’ being an understatement, he was fucking  _ praying.  _

If you couldn’t tell by how well he did as Robin, he was shit at obeying rules. It may have been the fact that Batman’s morals differentiated from Jason’s or that Jason worked more on instinct than a procedure. May have even been a combo of the two, but the short and definite version by the Bat is-- Jason is reckless. Plus, if Jason wanted to work under the law with all their rules to ‘help’ people, he’d be law enforcement. And seeing as he was not an FBI agent or another sort of enforcement, he obviously didn’t want to work with rules. Not to mention that shittons of law enforcers were corrupt in Gotham. 

But the thought of rules made Jason laugh. It’s been so long since he obeyed rules he’s forgotten what it’s like. It brought back memories that were only funny now, that time has passed. Robin Jason used to go off breaking rules, and Batman would shout, telling Jason how reckless he had been. That occurred regularly; it was a goddamn rat race. Well, it was, until Jason fucked up big time and died. 

“Rules? Haven’t had those since I was runnin’ around lookin’ like a traffic light.” Jason paused to laugh, but he eventually cooled down. He took a second to breathe then said, “Kay, let’s get on with it.”

Slade adjusted his chair to look Jason in the eyes and began listing off the rules, “Stay inside the apartment, no venturing out in the night, don’t touch my weapons, no training ‘til you’ve healed, and do as I say.” 

Jason mentally let out the breath that he was holding. Slade’s rules weren’t too strict, and most of them were a given. For one, Jason would never lay a finger on Slade’s weapons, unless he wanted to get his hand cut off. For two, no training until he was healed was what Jason had planned, but it really depended on the definition of ‘healed.’ Jason’s definition of ‘healed’ would be when visible injuries disappear, and when he doesn’t feel pain anymore.

Both Leslie and Alfred would scold him for thinking with that mentality, but he’d healed from worse, so a few broken bones should be a walk in the park. After, Alfred would scold Jason for even thinking about pairing up with Deathstroke. Fuck, if Alfred ever found out about their partnership, Jason would never live it down. 

Actually, Alfred might be accepting of Slade and Jason’s partnership after everything that B had done. As long as Slade didn’t hurt Jason Alfred would be cool with it. He missed Alfie.

Basically, for the most part, Jason was fine with the rules, but he remembered that earlier, he was concerned about who he would be killing. He didn’t want to kill innocent people, and it was worth a try to add his own rule.

“Yeah, sure, sure, whatever floats your boat,” Jason accepted with a haughty tone. The younger then paused contemplating if he should go through with his plan. He grew pretty damn confident that he could get Slade to agree, which Jason knew that he probably shouldn’t be that confident. He should remind himself that just a few hours ago he was fucking  _ crying _ in front of Slade. 

“I have some of my own rules I’d like to add,” Jason added in a proposition with new-found confidence. He hoped Slade wouldn’t maim him for this. 

Slade growled at the raven’s cockiness and retorted, “You’re on thin ice, kid.” 

Oh, Jason wasn’t even on  _ thin  _ ice, he was literally trying to walk on fucking water. But of course, he just  _ had _ to dig a deeper hole. “For starters, you could stop acting like you’ve got a stick up your ass,” Jason said with smugness in his voice. He shouldn’t have said that if he didn’t want to die, but it’s not Jason’s fault that Slade acts like he’s gotta stick up his ass. 

Slade growled loudly, bearing his teeth, which proved Jason’s point. 

“Calm your tits, Slade. It was just a recommendation,” Jason immediately added, “I only have one rule. When I start helping with your jobs, I want to have the option to opt-out.”

The mercenary thought for a few seconds then answered, “Fine, it’ll be up to you whether you want to participate or not. You just have to complete enough jobs to pay me back.”

Jason was pleased that Slade was okay with his proposition. However, he wasn’t sure how much a ‘save your life’ hire typically cost. He prayed it wasn’t ten million dollars or some shit like that. It also depended on what cut of Slade’s jobs goes to Jason, but surely Slade would at least give Jason thirty percent. If Jason didn’t need to pay back ten million dollars, and if he got around thirty percent of the jobs, then Slade would be paid off in no time. But Jason shouldn’t get too excited. 

“And how much would that be? In dollars,” Jason asked, spinning his chair left and right. 

Slade hummed with a smirk. “I’ll give you a generous discount and set it at one point five million. For each job you help with, five percent of the total payment will contribute to paying it off.” He intently watched the horror grow on Jason’s face. 

Jason’s eyes blew wide open, and he opened his mouth twice to reply, but both times, he froze in shock and anger. Slade wore the grin of a fox, and Jason just _ knew _ that Slade was enjoying his reaction. Eventually, he gathered his thoughts, and words came out, “Only five percent? A job for one million would only get me 50,000! It’ll take a whole damn century to pay you back!”

“ _ You  _ are the one who  _ insisted _ on paying me. Don’t complain about now, kid.”

Jason ground his teeth in anger, restraining himself from attacking the mercenary. Jason couldn’t argue with Slade. He was right, Jason practically  _ asked  _ for this, and he shouldn’t be the one whining. If anything, it was Jason’s fault for getting into this fucking mess. All he could do now was suck it up and pull through like he’s always done. It’ll be over in no time. Or so he hoped. 

“Fine,” Jason softly grumbled with clenched brows and an angry pout. 

Slade seemed satisfied with his little victory and decided to anger Jason more. “Good dog,” the mercenary commented, swerved the stool he was situated in to face the counter and went back to cleaning his sword.

Jason’s eye twitched in anger, and he clenched his fist, finding it harder to prevent himself from punching Slade. In Jason’s state, there was no doubt that Slade would win a physical fight in a second. That being the  _ only _ reason Jason didn’t attack like a feral dog. 

\--

After having an eventful conversation, Jason retreated to the living room. He didn’t notice before, but there were two glass doors that lead to a balcony. Earlier, he glazed over them, dismissing them as one of the windows. Now that he was stress as fuck and knew there was a balcony-- with a fantastic view-- Jason itched for a cigarette. And right now, he didn’t even care what brand they were; he just needed one. 

Ignoring his past anger towards the other, Jason glanced back at Slade, who was paying no attention to the younger and asked, “Got any smokes?” He didn’t expect Slade to have any as he didn’t seem like a smoker, but there’s no loss in trying. 

If Jason asked any of the bats for a cigarette, especially Alfie, they’d blow up and lecture him about how smoking kills. Even when they spot him smoking, they say a word or two about Jason’s shitty habits, and he would always respond with a death joke. Even though it was annoying, they were considered good memories, but it’s probably never going to go back that way. 

The mercenary didn’t bother to look at Jason. “Bedroom desk left drawer,” surprisingly, Slade answered immediately. Jason was shocked at the fact that Slade owned cigarettes and that he answered without hesitation. Slade has a shit ton of safehouses but knew that this particular one has cigs and knew the _ exact _ location; that’s fucking dedication right there.

Jason headed to the bedroom and in the corner, spotted, a simple black desk equipped with one drawer on each side. He pulled open the left drawer and saw a stack of four packs of cheap Marlboro cigarettes, a simplistic glass ashtray, and a silver lighter. 

“Who would’ve thought this rich fucker buys cheap cigs?” Jason mumbled with a scoff.

The fact that Slade, a rich ass mercenary, had cheap cigarettes was just unfathomable. The dude was  _ loaded _ but bought mainstream, inexpensive, cigs. Not only that, Jason assumed Slade wasn’t a smoker, but he had  _ four _ full stacks of Marlboros. How much did Slade plan to smoke? 

Interestingly, Slade has enhanced healing, which might counteract the lung-damaging effects of smoking. Or it might not. Jason would be pretty envious of Slade’s metahuman healing if it could help smoked lungs. The younger admittedly had an addiction to nicotine, and he’s noticed whenever he stress-smokes, he would get winded quicker or would start coughing mid-fight. So yes, if Slade  _ was _ immune to lung cancer that’d be pretty fucking cool. 

But who knows? Jason just has to accept that the guy’s a fucking mystery. 

Jason grabbed one of the packs of Marlboros and also took the lighter, disregarding the ashtray. He eagerly shut the drawer and went out to the balcony, closing the doors behind him. It was nice getting out, smelling city air even if it didn’t hit the same way Gotham’s air did. 

He opened the pack, shook out a single cigarette, and placed it between his lips. Jason flicked open the lighter and cupped his hand around the flame, lighting up the end of the smoke. After taking a long drag, he shoved the pack of cigs and the lighter in his sweatpants pocket and continued to stare out into the city while murdering his lungs. 

This area of Bludhaven was definitely a change from the Crime Alley of Gotham. The air wasn’t as gray; there were no visible beggars, no drug dealers, no stray kids roaming the streets, and especially no Batman.

Fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more work these days but I will always try to update constantly! If anybody wants to be a beta reader for my fic it would be much appreciated! 
> 
> Also, feel free to leave suggestions for future events! So far I've planned to incorporate a lot of y’alls comments :) I get really inspired by you guys


	12. Left Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jason being good at baking/cooking is not canon but I’m a sucker for it so Imma put it in later. Also, some things in this chapter(and the whole fic) might not be canon but I tried to do some deductive inference (i.e idk what canon Slade eats but uhh here he like de protein bars and MREs)

Jason laid belly-down on the couch with his arms and chin propped up against the couch arm. He couldn't do much, being, you know, injured. Normally, most of his time he was either being Red Hood or training for his vigilante job. Now, he couldn’t be Red Hood, he had to obey Slade’s little house rules, thus, Jason couldn’t even train. 

Up-side: he could finally be Jason Todd again. Down-side: he didn’t know how to be Jason Todd. Fuck.

It was complicated. Sometimes he did just want to be ‘Jason Todd’. He  _ could _ just be ‘Jason Todd’, and in his mind, it sounded so simple, but it truly was  _ far  _ from simple. Jason attributed the difficulty to the fact that he’d played the Red Hood far too long. Most of his life he was either Robin, Red Hood, or training to be Red Hood. He guessed that being ‘Jason Todd’ never got to grow alongside him. For so long he has shoved that person out and now trying to be just ‘Jason Todd’ felt foreign. However, that was just a guess. 

When he was Red Hood he always imagined that if he ever got free time, he’d be relaxed and be thrilled. But now that he had free time, he wasn’t thrilled or relaxed. He had nothing to do, he was stressed, he was hella sad, and he was injured. In short, Jason was depressed, and he was bored as hell. 

So in a search for a source of entertainment, Jason resorted to just watching Slade. Jason watched Slade eat, clean weapons, and do god knows what on his laptop. So far Jason’s discovered a few things about Slade just by observing. 

Slade has his safehouse stocked with loads of protein bars and MREs. However, he only eats the ‘double chocolate’ flavor with contentment. When Slade ate the other flavors, he’d eat slower and after every few bites would ignore the bar for long periods of time. With the ‘double chocolate’ protein bar, it would never leave his hand. When he opened the cabinet that housed the bars, he would reach for a ‘double chocolate’ bar 50% more than the other flavors. 

For MREs, Slade mostly had menus ten, eight, and six, which Jason assumed were Slade’s preferred meals. Slade had only eaten one MRE so far, which was menu 10, thus, Jason couldn’t determine which type was the favorite. 

Unfortunately, MREs and protein bars were the only source of food in the whole safehouse. When Jason opened the fridge earlier, it didn’t contain  _ any _ food; it only had a cooled pitcher of water. It made Jason cringe. He’s only eaten a few protein bars and a small pound cake, which he nabbed from Slade’s MRE (Jason was surprised Slade only glared at him for taking it). Both ‘meals’ were alright but Jason would rather eat a greasy, fast-food burger.  _ Hell _ , he’d  _ kill _ for one right now.

The safe house was in a serious need of some  _ real _ food. 

Cooking was an idea for a way to get food that didn’t taste like cardboard. Jason honestly didn’t mind cooking and totally would if there were  _ any _ available ingredients. If Slade didn’t have a rule that restricted Jason from going outside, Jason would immediately go to the closest grocery store. But in reality, he couldn’t unless he wanted to get his hands chopped off or something similar. Well, correction, he couldn’t go out when Slade was around.

Jason could just ask? Not really. Jason distanced himself from complaining or asking Slade to go buy some food since the younger wanted to be polite and not be more baggage than he already was. Plus, since Slade was going out that night, Jason planned to be himself and break a few rules. Without a doubt, Slade would find out, but Jason  _ needed _ other food then MREs and candy bars that were full of artificial flavors with the texture of cardboard.

The plan was to go to the grocery store and buy some proper fucking food while Slade’s gone. Then, Jason will try not to run into Nightwing or Slade and will cook almost Alfred worthy dishes. Too bad the probability that the plan will actually pan out was almost zero. Sucks. 

Back to Slade’s habits. 

Honestly, Slade was kinda boring when he was not actively fighting. Jason had assumed that Slade would have some terrific, life-changing routine or something, but he didn’t. Jason could get into the nit and grit of Slade’s habits but it was extremely… normal. To add to that, as much as Jason would like to think observing every move will be useful in the future, it wouldn’t be. How would knowing Slade’s preferred direction of wiping his sword help Jason in his current situation? 

To reiterate, Jason was bored and hungry for real food. 

“Got anythin’ to do around here?” Jason asked Slade, as a last resort to cure his boredom. 

For a change, Slade was standing behind the counter, but he still was on his laptop. Boring. “You can rest,” Slade offered and motioned his hand towards the couch, “Couch is all yours.”

Jason exasperatedly rolled his eyes at the older’s answer. He had been resting for days during his stay at Leslie’s clinic and now the thought of sleep seemed nauseating. “Great,” Jason deadpan, then added, “Besides resting.”

Slade finally pulled his eye away from the screen and looked at Jason. He grabbed a black tablet that laid unused on the edge of the counter and pressed a few buttons. The mercenary then walked over to Jason and placed the tablet on the coffee table. 

“Entertain yourself,” Slade said and then threw the younger a threatening glare, “Don’t contact anybody.” 

Jason glazed over at the tablet that now sat on the table next to him. He was shocked that Slade would trust him with the tablet that Jason could use to direct every bat to the safehouse. Well, obviously he wouldn’t do that as it only would lead to him being thrown in Arkham. But the point was, who would’ve known that Slade even knew how to trust people with anything?

“Nobody to contact anyway,” Jason mumbled under his breath. He observed the tablet, flipping it over and briefly glancing at the home page, then commented, “You really gotta improve your bedside manners.”

“I’m not your doctor, kid.” Slade went back to the counter and turned his attention to the laptop. Fuck, how boring was this dude?

Jason could’ve sworn the dude just as much a workaholic as Bruce was. Jason wondered why Slade even bothered to work; he was practically rich and could go live out in the Bahamas or something. And unlike Bruce or Jason, Slade didn’t have responsibility for protecting a city from crazed maniacs. However, Slade did seem like the type to enjoy working and just did what he was best at, killing. 

\--

Jason was thankful that the tablet actually connected to wifi. His boredom was cured because somehow reading mundane articles about how Batman was dating Bruce Wayne was fucking hilarious. Maybe it was only funny since Jason knew who Batman really was or it was because he could automatically picture B’s reaction to the speculations. 

Though, as much as it was funny, Jason still winced at any mention of the Bat and originally wanted to avoid all things that were related to Batman. But he guessed that the hilarity outweighed the nightmares and trauma. 

It was nice to forget what happened recently, and Jason reasoned that it was better to face his traumas rather than to ignore it. In reality, he really wanted to just ignore his problems, pretend they don’t exist, and that may have been why he even read the articles in the first place. Jason wanted to pretend everything was well, that he wasn’t afraid of Bruce, that he was fine. 

Jason raised his head from the screen when Slade finally closed the laptop in front of him, picked it up, and began walking off. Jason raised his brow, curious to where Slade was going. 

Slade stopped right at the door of the bedroom and looked at Jason. He narrowed his eye, almost seeming as if he were trying to read Jason’s mind. 

“I’m resting ‘till sundown,” the mercenary said out of the blue. 

Jason was surprised. For one: Slade pretty much read Jason’s mind. For two: Slade actually sleeps? The younger assumed that if you had enhanced healing you wouldn’t have to rest. Or maybe Jason assumed that because Slade appeared too badass to “sleep”.

“Still have to sleep even with super-healing?” The raven sneered. “Color me shocked.” 

“You should be resting, not talking back.” Slade hissed with a  _ hint _ of care in the first few words, but it’s common knowledge that Slade doesn’t care for anybody.

Jason waved him off, “Uh-huh. ‘Night.” Slade retreated to the bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Jason alone in the living room.

The tablet’s light brought Jason’s attention back to the article he was reading. It was about Batman, ‘cause everything seems to revolve around that fucker. Anywho, all that he’s learned was that Batman has gone about his daily business and that Nightwing didn’t seem to be going off his schedule.

Jason scoffed and decided to take up Slade’s recommendation. He shut off the tablet and slid it onto the coffee table. It was golden hour, and the sun was projecting straight into the living room so Jason visited each of the windows, closing every blind. After, he deemed the conditions suitable to sleep in, cozying up on the couch with the fluffy blanket from earlier. 

However, he didn't actually sleep. He was too afraid of getting another nightmare, considering that Bruce has been featuring in them more often. On top of that, Slade was sleeping nearby, and Jason was known for screaming during nightmares. 

Jason would feel bad for bothering Slade again so instead of sleeping, he placed his hand behind his head and stared into space. 

He thought about his teammates, Artemis and Bizarro, wondering where the fuck were they, hoping they weren’t dead. He wondered how Roy and Kori were doing. He hoped they were doing well. Jason just thought about random thoughts, contemplating life, what was the purpose of coming back, ruminating why Bruce was never happy to see his ‘kid’ in the first place. 

Stuff like that kept him awake and lucid. And stuff like that made him angry. Instead, he tried to think about simpler things such as: what plans did he have for the future? What new dish can he try to cook? Where was the broom closet? 

Unfortunately, those types of things made him fall asleep. 

Shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would be writing another fic soon and just a heads up, I will be posting it within the next week or two.   
> Spoiler-ish: It’s a cuddle fic. I also said I'd write a time-travel fic but currently, I'm swamped with work and the time-travel fic is going to be longer, requiring more planning/time.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and suggestions for future events!


	13. 13th Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, some plot development! Enjoy!

Slade didn’t hesitate to pull himself out of bed when he heard the soft ring of the alarm clock. He immediately shut off the alarm and glanced out the bedroom window. The sun was setting, and soon, the sky would be pitch black, perfect for his job. 

Slade pulled on his armor and grabbed his weapons that laid on the bedside table. Instead of immediately leaving through the window, he thought that he’d have some human decency and tell the kid he would be leaving. Thus, Slade walked out into the living room in search of the kid. 

In addition to somehow growing a sense of human decency, Slade reasoned to wear a comm for his job, just in case Jason needs to contact him. Or if he needs to contact Jason. Slade has heard that partnership is a two-way road. 

Slade found the kid curled up on the couch and didn’t seem to be distressed. He crouched down to the level of the kid’s face, lightly grabbed onto his shoulder, and shook him. Within a second, Jason’s eyes shot open, darted around, then landed on Slade and relaxed a little. The kid pried himself into a half-sitting position, unintentionally shrugging off the blanket that covered him. He also seemed like he was searching for a weapon nearby as if it were instinct. And it probably was instinct. 

“--Urg,” the kid groaned. “Wa’s happenin’?”

Seeing how tired the younger was, Slade felt sorry for waking Jason up and hoped he’d go back to sleep after Slade left. Slade replied, “Nothing, kid. I’m leaving now. I’ll be wearing a trackable comm tonight; you can contact me on the tablet.” 

Jason rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and hummed, “Mmhm… see ya’.” He said it in a mumble; still tried.

After, the kid flopped back onto the couch, bringing his knees closer to his chest. Slade was pleased that the kids went back to sleep and stared for a second before adjusting the blanket back over the kid’s upper body. 

Slade stood up and put on his mask before diving off the balcony. 

\--Slade’s job tonight was similar to all his others. Watch some guy and kill some guy. Admittedly, this target did have better security and even a meta bodyguard. From what he researched, the muscle only had super strength and was not bulletproof. That was the good news. The less fortunate news was that the building that they were in had bulletproof windows and had an advanced security system. 

Undoubtedly, those didn’t stand a chance against Deathstroke, but Slade found an easier way to kill the target with a little research. At the end of every day, around ten o’clock, the target would be escorted out of the building, by his meta bodyguard, to his car. During the walk to the car, the target would be out in the open, and Slade didn’t even need to worry about the meta considering that he wasn’t bulletproof. 

If Slade missed his chance, he would move to plan B, which would be to blow up the target’s car. Slade has already placed a remote-controlled bomb underneath the car just for the secondary plan. Though, he’d prefer not to attract too much attention as the bluebird always seemed to be near. 

Slade waited on the roof of an adjacent building. He mentally knew that the time was around ten o’clock; his target should be leaving soon. 

Speaking truthfully, Slade was getting impatient, and he had a bad gut feeling. He didn’t know if he was worried that the kid, being alone, would blow his safehouse or if Slade’s job was going to go south. The kid seemed like the type to break the rules, and he appeared like he was itching to go out. Thinking about all the wonderful possibilities that could happen made the thought of the kid being unsupervised feel like a shitty decision. Slade should have at least installed cameras inside, but there was no going back now.

The job going south didn’t sound likely. Slade made sure to think of every possible outcome, and the worse would be that he runs into Nightwing. Though, it was improbable that Nightwing would stop Slade from completing his job. 

The second worst event that could occur would be that Plan A and B don’t pan out, which if that happened, Slade had a Plan C. Plan C would be to shoot out the car’s tires, get to the ground, and shoot the target point-blank. Or slit his throat, both options worked. 

Through the window, Slade saw the lights turned off in the room, which his target worked in. The mercenary paid extra attention to the exit and crouched closer to his sniper rifle. The target should take about four minutes and thirty-five seconds to exit the building, but that was just an estimate. 

Right when Slade counted down to two minutes, he heard static coming from his comm; someone was trying to contact him. Soon after a few seconds of static, Slade could clearly hear what sounded like the kid panting.  _ Christ _ , out of all the times the kid could have called, he just had to pick the damn worst time. 

“What?” Slade growled, forceful. He was pretty damn pissed. 

The kid sounded like he was trying to catch his breath and was wheezing. “Hey--” Jason stopped again to breathe. Slade could’ve sworn that ‘no training’ was one of his rules, but it obviously sounded like the kid has been working out.

One minute and forty seconds. 

Slade was busy, and he would bet that whatever the kid had it say, it wasn’t important at the moment. “Hurry up, kid,” Slade demanded. “I don’t have time for your quips right now.”

“Yeah-- Hold on--” The kid was still panting furiously. 

Slade growled. Time was ticking, and he was tempted to just hang up or turn off his comm. He waited for a few more seconds before he brought his hand to his ear, ready to rip out his comm. 

Jason huffed out, breathily, “Nightwing--” Instantly, Slade narrowed his eye and dropped his hand away from his comm. The kid had his attention now. 

“--Nightwing’s headed your way. He looked like he was goin’ pretty-- fuckin’ fast too,” Jason continued, pausing a few times to take a short breath. “Holy fuck, I’m outta shape!”

Looked like? That added to Slade’s case that the kid broke his rules and went out. Unless Jason saw Nightwing through a window, then he clearly saw him in-person. Seeing Nightwing while still being inside the apartment building was rare, considering Slade had purposely chosen a safe house in the exact area where Nightwing rarely visits. In addition, on this particular night, the bird shouldn’t be patrolling in that area.

Slade was almost one-hundred percent sure that Jason sneaked out. But at the moment, Slade didn’t care how Jason obtained the information; he just needed to go.

The worst possibility was being set to happen, and Slade was livid. Nightwing wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near his job, which made Slade wonder why the bird took a detour. Did he catch onto Slade’s presence, or did he hear about his job? 

“Fuck,” Slade growled out as if growling was the only way to express emotions. 

One-minute, twenty seconds. 

Slade was somewhat startled to see that the target had arrived in the lobby of the building and wasn’t far from the exit doors. Slade’s estimate was far off the mark, which was more surprising. He can’t afford to be “rusty” in his line of work. 

However, the target exiting earlier than expected was actually beneficial in Slade’s current situation. Nightwing was headed in his direction, and the faster Slade can finish the job, the faster he can leave. 

The target and his meta bodyguard left the building and were walking towards his car. Just as Slade planned, in a single shot, he executed the target. Slade didn’t care about the meta bodyguard, and time was precious; he had to go  _ now _ . 

After the shot, Slade immediately heard Jason chime in. “You good? ‘Heard a gunshot.” 

Admittedly, Slade was a little shocked by the kid’s worry. Jason should know that a single bullet wouldn’t hurt Slade, so he shouldn’t be worried. However, the kid was literally mooching off Slade, so it would only make sense that Jason was concerned about his money flow.

Unfortunately, Slade wasn’t done yet, and since he was in a rush, he ignored the kid for a moment. This specific client wanted proof of death, so Slade grudgingly pulled out one of his burner phones and hastily took a photo of the target lying on the ground with a single gunshot to the head. 

From what Slade could deduce, the bodyguard had left and didn’t even bother to shoot or search for the killer. That was one pathetic bodyguard, but it was beneficial for the mercenary, so he began fleeing.

Slade thought about his current situation. Nightwing was nearby, threatening all of Slade’s plans. He was pissed off, almost livid. He wasn’t just pissed at the fact that Nightwing was nearby; he was also pissed that it was Jason who had to warn Slade. 

It wasn’t that Slade didn’t appreciate it; he did, but he couldn’t believe that he didn’t accurately predict Nightwing’s movements. From research, Nightwing shouldn’t even be near Slade’s job, making him think someone tipped the bird off. Or it was just a coincidence, but there was no such as “coincidences”. 

The mercenary angrily cursed, “Christ’s sake.”

“That count as a 10-4?” Jason asked, then let out an exhausted exhale, still waiting for a proper answer to his earlier question. 

Again, being concentrated on the task at hand, Slade brushed off the question and continued to rush away from the scene of the crime, trying to conceal himself in dark alleys. “How close is he now?”

“Fuck-- wait-” the kid started. “I’m no oracle, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

After a short while, the kid replied, “Okay--he’s on 6th street, moving west-- oh  _ fuck. _ ” Slade furrowed his brows, wondering what made the kid curse so abruptly. He waited for the kid to explain. 

“You gotta be shitin’ me!  _ You’re _ on 6th street!” The mercenary heard the kid groan, frustrated. 

Slade growled and moved faster. Being so caught up in his job, the kid, and Nightwing, Slade didn’t even take notice of what streets he was passing through. Now that he knows that he was on the same street as Nightwing, there was no doubt that they would have to meet. 

In terms of fighting, Slade could easily beat Nightwing, so he wasn’t worried about that. And under normal circumstances using Nightwing as a form of entertainment would be entertaining; however, currently, Slade was trying to keep him and the kid a secret, so avoiding all bats would be best. 

So much trouble for one kid. 

But it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cuddle fic has been posted! Here’s the summary:
> 
> Jason wants a cuddle buddy, so he hires the first person he thinks of.  
> Deathstroke likes money, right?  
> \--  
> Feel free to leave comments and suggestions for future events!


	14. No Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pick Dick's fate at the end notes

Slade continued to leap across roofs, but he began sensing a presence growing closer. He knew who it was and paused near the edge of the roof he had run across. 

“Deathstroke,” a well-known voice greeted. 

Slade turned around. As expected, there stood Nightwing; hip cocked to the side with one hand on top, escrima sticks in hand. He was a good ten feet from Slade and didn’t look eager to close the gap. 

The kid chimed in after hearing the voice, “Jesus, fuck! --That was Dick, wasn’t it?”

The mercenary didn’t directly reply to the kid’s exclamation, considering he was in the presence of the original robin. “Nightwing,” Slade greeted back, cockily. That response also provided an affirmation to the kid’s suspicion. 

As he said before, he would prefer to avoid Nightwing, and from Slade’s experience, running now will only postpone the battle. If Slade physically fought the bluebird, the fight would end quickly; unfortunately, that method would only encourage Nightwing to seek Slade out again. Thus, the best decision was to talk his way out. 

“God fucking dammit!” The kid unnecessarily shouted through the comm, “Jesus take the fucking wheel!” 

Christ, Slade really wanted to tell the kid to shut up or turn off his comm but refrained from doing so just in case the kid actually had some useful input. Useful input being any of Nightwing’s weaknesses, ways to trick the bird, or warnings of nearby law enforcement. 

“You know I don’t appreciate your business here, Slade,” Nightwing snarled. 

“I’m just enjoying a mid-night jog. No harm in that, right?” Slade lied sardonically with a smirk behind his mask. After the reply, he could hear faint cursing from his comm; it was palpable the kid was having a crisis. 

Nightwing accusingly pointed at the mercenary, “Slade, stay _out_ of Bludhaven, I mean it.”

As much as the bluebird tried to sound threatening, it wasn’t, and Slade didn’t even bother to bat an eye. However, Slade agreed to convince the other into letting him off, “Of course.” But Slade didn’t stop there. He was curious if the bluebird knew what happened to Jason, and Slade wanted to mess with the bird a little. “Say, what happened to your little birdie brother?”

The kid, shocked by the question, immediately started yelling into the comm again, “What the hell, Slade!? F--”

Slade discretely pulled out his comm, turning it off before the kid could finish. He was tired of the yelling in his ear, and to an extent, Slade wanted to keep the rest of the conversation a secret from Jason. 

Nightwing was automatically angered and didn’t seem to notice Slade turning off the comm. “What did you do to Robin!?” He demanded, going into a fighting stance and flipping on his escrima stick. 

Slade should have expected that Nightwing would think ‘little birdie brother’ was Robin, not Hood, considering the word ‘little’ did imply the bird was physically small. “Robin? I’m talking about Hood,” the mercenary corrected.

The bluebird instantly looked relieved and slightly annoyed. “What about him? You want to team up with him or something?” He questioned in a flat, irritated tone, setting himself back into a relaxed pose. 

Even though Slade wasn’t Jason, Slade was irked by Nightwing’s flippant reaction. The acrobat was immediately defensive when he thought Robin was mentioned, but when Hood was brought up, he dismissed all worried emotions. It irked Slade that the bats thought so lowly of Jason. Then again, technically, the kid was partnered with Slade now. 

Slade didn’t disclose their circumstances, “Or something.” He continued to question Nightwing to see if the bird was aware of what happened during the ‘Penguin shooting’, so far, Nightwing seemed totally clueless, “ Is he in Arkham over his little stunt?” Slade already knew the answer, so unless Nightwing has the same answer, Batman had either lied or kept the information secret from the first Robin. 

Nightwing glanced to the left before quickly answering, “Batman took care of it.” He almost appeared like he felt guilty.

Nightwing clearly didn’t know the full story, so Slade didn’t press further. “Hm,” the mercenary hummed.

The bird wore a confused expression and didn’t even seem interested in pursuing Slade anymore. He looked as if he wanted answers, which only solidified the idea that Nightwing hadn’t been filled in on the information. 

With Nightwing practically frozen in confusion, Slade thought it was a suitable opportunity to go. Slade turned to leave, but before running off, he looked back at Nightwing, “Tell the Bat that he’s no father.”

“What?” Nightwing furrowed his brows, even more, confused than before.

Slade fled without uttering another word, leaving the mystery for Nightwing to solve himself. During his run back, Slade never turned his comm back on. He didn’t forget about the kid; Slade just didn’t want to deal with him at the moment. 

No doubt, the kid would be fuming when the mercenary arrives back, but Jason posed no threat, and therefore, Slade messed with the kid freely. The kid was always amusing to watch. He talked back to the deadliest mercenary, freely harassed others with quips, and was all-around cute. Jason reminded Slade of a red panda. They try to seem more intimidating by standing up but only become cuter and a more amusing subject to watch.

Even though the kid could be compared to a cute red panda, he was a significant threat under normal circumstances. After the kid recovered, Slade would have to tease him less to avoid full-blow fights as Jason seemed to have wanted to speak with his fist first. But for now, Slade would make sure to get all his teasing in before the kid heals. 

\--

When Slade climbed in the bedroom window of the safe house, the kid was waiting in the bedroom. He was situated cross-legged on top of Slade’s bed, facing the wind that the mercenary had just entered. Jason had a ticked-off expression and was staring holes into Slade, who was busy closing the window. 

Immediately, when Slade looked over, the kid opened his mouth to argue. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Nothing of your concern,” Slade growled back, taking off his mask and setting it on the desk. 

“What did you tell Dick?” the kid demanded, convinced that Slade ratted him out or something.

Slade pulled off his gloves, setting them down with his mask. He went over to Jason and ruffled the kid’s hair in reassurance, “Don’t worry, kid. I didn’t tell him about you, and he doesn’t seem to suspect anything yet.”

Of course, Slade did say some things that made Nightwing very curious, and eventually, the bird will end up looking for answers. However, Slade planned to get out of Bludhaven long before Nightwing could find any answers. Even if Nightwing did discover Slade’s and Jason’s little partnership, Nightwing still didn’t seem the type to leave his city to search for his ‘black sheep’ ‘brother’. For now, Nightwing wasn’t a threat.

“I’ll believe you, but you better not turn off your comm again,” the kid threatened with a small pout. 

“Good. Next time, don’t yell into the comm, and I won’t turn it off.”

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes in response. He never explicitly said he’d comply, but Slade knew the kid would. 

Jason's eyes then glazed at the ground. “When you asked Dick about me, did he say anything?” He asked with a tinge of hurt, lacing his voice and a nervous expression. 

Slade inhaled sharply but tried to hide his reaction by breathing calmly again. There it was again, the pain in his chest. Looking at the kid’s sadness was physically paining Slade again. Slade wanted to say that Nightwing doesn’t matter or just straight up hug the kid, but Slade didn’t want that lie. 

“He doesn’t know what happened to you,” the mercenary regrettably muttered out, already expecting the kid’s next reaction. 

“...oh,” was all that Jason muttered out.

Christ, the kid looked heartbroken, and more pain arose in Slade’s own heart. Slade automatically stood closer to the kid to comfort him. Soon enough, Slade brought his hand up to Jason’s head and began petting down the soft curls. Shockingly, the raven pressed his head closer to Slade’s hand as if he were a cat desiring touch. 

As Slade comforted the kid, he began to take notice of a foreign smell that filled the safehouse. It wasn’t a gross or toxic smell; rather, it was a rich, savory smell. 

The mercenary sniffed the air again, still carding his fingers through Jason’s hair. It was a faint lingering scent of… lasagna.

Lasagna?

Slade would be lying if he said that he wasn’t surprised. He was surprised that he hadn’t noticed before and didn’t remember owning any ingredients for lasagna. “Why does it smell like lasagna in here?” Slade asked the kid, not mad, just curious. 

The kid’s mood heightened a tad. “I cooked lasagna, duh. Thought you super soldiers were supposed to be smart.” 

Slade hummed, choosing to ignore the second half of the kid’s remark, “I don’t recall stocking up on any cooking ingredients. Care to tell?”

Indeed, there were many possibilities, some that required the breaking of rules and others that didn’t. The kid could have ordered the ingredients online and paid using his own money, this being the better scenario. However, Slade had speculated that Jason had gone outside so the theory that the kid simply went to the local grocery store seemed more probable. 

The kid looked a little skittish but quickly hid his reaction, putting on a mean demeanor as if it were a coping method. “I went shopping. Gotta’ problem with that?” Jason snapped, with more of his Gotham accent seeping through. 

“Yes, I do have a problem with that. We went over the rules, boy. I know damn well that you’re fully aware you just broke four out of five rules.” Even when Slade was a little pissed, his hand remained on the kid’s hair. 

“Fuck off; I only broke one.” 

“Four,” the mercenary corrected. Slade then began listing off the rules that were broken, “You didn’t stay inside, you ventured out at night, which is worse than sneaking out during the day, you trained, and you didn’t obey me.”

“What? I didn’t train,” Jason argued in disbelief, but not turning away from Slade. 

“I heard you on the comms; you were out of breath, you were running, that’s training. You’re not supposed to be straining your body. You haven’t healed yet.”

The kid scoffed. “Yeah? So? What’cha gonna do? Leash me?” He taunted, obviously not thinking about the consequences of his words. 

It was true that Slade couldn’t really ground the kid, as he was technically already grounded, but Slade had other methods up his sleeve. He had thought about installing cameras, but he remembered he had acquired a certain piece of technology a few months ago. 

Slade smirked as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Kids, full of amazing ideas.” 

He quickly rifled through his duffle bag before pulling out a thick silver bracelet. It wasn’t any normal bracelet though. From what he was told, the tech would send shocks --at varying voltages-- to the wearer when the controller pleased or if the wearer attempted to leave the premises. It was only removable by Slade and also contained a microphone and tracker, making it perfect for Slade’s use.

Jason observed the older, puzzled. Within a second, Slade swiftly grabbed Jason’s left wrist and installed the bracelet. “You will be administered a warning shock, and I’ll be notified if you try to leave the premises. Don’t think about breaking any more rules.”

“Fuck you,” the kid barked, yanking his arm out of Slade’s grip. 

“Behave like a good dog, brat,” Slade lightly patted the kid’s cheek with a smug grin and began leaving to the kitchen. 

Slade left Jason alone, gaping in anger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future chapters, which side should Dick be on (after he learns the full story)?  
> 1\. (angst + hurt/comfort) Dick is not sympathetic towards Jason and backs Batman(edit: sry for the confusion, I mean Dick will be okay with Batman's past actions (no matter if Bat is good or bad in the end)) / blames Jason  
> 2\. (maybe fluff-ish) Dick is sympathetic toward Jason and tries to help + mad at Batman  
> 3\. Mix (i.e. Dick is not sympathetic/mean at first but grows to have more sympathy/ be nicer) 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment!


	15. Apathetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out errors!

Bruce sat alone, hunched over the Batcomputer, fully suited with the cowl pulled down. He wasn’t not actively using the computer; he was just staring at it. Though he wasn’t just staring at anything, he was staring at his cowl’s recording. To be specific, the recording was of Deathstroke intervening in Batman’s fight with Red Hood. 

Bruce only replayed the clip that contained Deathstroke, choosing to ignore the part where he beat Red Hood. It started with the sight of Red Hood on the ground, but that only last for half of a second as Deathstroke then clubbed Batman in the head, directing the camera to the assassin. The recording showed Deathstroke hitting Batman a few more times before moving to Red Hood.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows, knowing what the next clip would show. 

The video then displayed Deathstroke crouching down, blocking the view of Red Hood. Bruce couldn’t see what they conversed about, and the audio had corrupted from the damage that Deathstroke inflicted. However, after tweaking and going over the audio multiple times, Bruce could make out a few words, ‘Hospital,’ ‘Better idea,’ and ‘who.’ None of which were much of a lead.

The last part of the replaying clip irked Bruce the most. 

After the brief conversation, Deathstroke picked up Red Hood, held him close, and ran off. That was where the recording stopped before being replayed again. 

Bruce didn’t pay much mind to Red Hood and was more focused on Deathstroke. Even being the ‘World’s Greatest Detective,’ Bruce had hundreds of unanswered questions, which was an odder than the normal situation. 

Why did Deathstroke save Red Hood? What relationship did Deathstroke and Red Hood have? Were they partners? Did Red Hood hire Deathstroke to save him? Where was Deathstroke now? Was he with Red Hood? The questions could go on.

Bruce has tried to search for answers, but all his leads and hypotheses never developed.

One question he’s tried to answer was, ‘Did Red Hood hire Deathstroke to save him?’. When Bruce explored the affirmative route, it seemed plausible. Red Hood had connections with many villains and mercenaries, so it would be simple to hire one. However, when Bruce checked the Red Hood’s finances, there had been no withdrawals that could support the hypothesis. 

The question itself brought many others: If Red Hood did hire Deathstroke, why hadn’t the assassin intervened earlier? Bruce checked the nearby security cameras, and they showed that Deathstroke waited on an adjacent roof for nearly five minutes. Deathstroke was already at the scene, so why did he wait? 

All of the questions Bruce had multiplied into another ten questions, those of which also didn’t pan out. 

Bruce finally took his eyes off the computer’s screen when his phone rang. He glazed over; on the phone’s screen was Dick’s name, so Bruce automatically picked up. 

_“Bruce,”_ Dick immediately said. He didn’t sound injured, so Bruce was a little relieved. 

“What happened?” was Bruce’s first question as it was rare for anyone to call just to make small talk. However, Bruce’s first question may have been ‘what do you want’ depending on his mood. 

_“Nothing?”_ Dick sounded unsure and quickly corrected himself, _“I mean, nothing serious.”_

Bruce furrowed his brows and replied, “I’m busy.” Bruce wasn’t actually busy; he was just ‘stuck’ on one subject as if he were in a trance, and he didn’t need to deal with something ‘not serious.’ 

Bruce had other subjects to attend to that bothered him more. Being labeled the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ and not being able to answer circumstance questions concerning Red Hood and Deathstroke was bothering him. Though Dick is his son and therefore has the right to talk about things that aren't serious with Bruce, Bruce couldn’t do so currently. 

The younger sighed. _“Yeah, I know,”_ Dick sounded a little disheartened but quickly continued his thought, _“Slade was in Bludhaven--”_

Immediately, Bruce was alarmed by the mention of Deathstroke. Deathstroke was deadly, and hearing that he was in Bludhaven with Dick caused a small scare. “Are you hurt?” Bruce demanded. 

The mercenary was also someone directly related to the Red Hood case, which riveted Bruce more. In addition, knowing Deathstroke was in Bludhaven may be a lead to Red Hood’s whereabouts, assuming that Deathstroke and Red Hood are in close contact. 

_“No, I’m fine. It was just weird. I ran into him when I was following a new lead, and I asked him to leave. He didn’t try to fight me or anything. The weird part was that he started questioning me about Red Hood.”_ Dick explained, reassuring Bruce he wasn’t hurt. _“I don’t know what to make of it. Do you think Deathstroke might be pursuing a bounty on Hood?”_

As Dick explained, Bruce listened with his eyes narrowed. Indeed, the interaction was peculiar, especially knowing that Deathstroke was the one who took Red Hood. Wouldn’t Deathstroke know what happened? It made no sense for the mercenary to ask for more details. 

Dick started again, his voice sounding as if he were puzzled, _“Anyway, he also asked if Hood was in Arkham and then told me to tell you that…”_

Bruce waited for Dick to finish his sentence as he was quite curious as to what Deathstroke wanted to tell him.

Dick continued, _“You’re no father.”_

Instantly, Bruce recoiled in hurt but quickly hid it to respond, “Do you have the recording?” Most of those affiliated with Batman wore a body camera, mainly to reevaluate the situation that occurred and to gather information through analysis. In the current case, Bruce would be using the footage to collect information, which may prove extremely useful since he has yet to gather any solid leads. 

Dick didn’t respond for a moment, _“Sure, I’ll send it to you.”_

Bruce didn’t respond and only waited for the video to arrive.

 _“B? What the hell is going on?”_ Dick asked. 

Bruce still hasn’t told the full story to Dick, but he will once he grasps an understanding of the event that occurred. Even without telling Dick the details, he should be about to form an opinion with just what had been shown on the news. Red Hood disobeyed the rules; there is not much more to it. 

“Goodbye,” Bruce ignored. 

_“B-”_

The older disconnected before Dick could say anymore, 

Right after, Bruce downloaded the recording Dick sent, opened it, and pressed play. 

The clip started with Nightwing chasing what is assumed to be Deathstroke. The video was a bit shaky, and Deathstroke was a large distance away from Nightwing, so it was difficult to make a positive confirmation. However, as Nightwing closed the gap, it was clear that it was Deathstroke.

In the footage, it seemed as if Deathstroke had not noticed that he was being tailed by Nightwing, as the mercenary was running at a leisurely pace, making it easy for Nightwing to approach. 

Just as Nightwing was two roofs away from closing the gap, Deathstroke sped up drastically, as he presumably discovered Nightwings’ presence. However, it was too late, Nightwing was already too close, and Deathstroke almost seemed distracted, off his game. 

Once Nightwing stood on the same roof as the mercenary, the younger greeted him. Deathstroke stood at the other end of the roof and made no attempt to escape. Instead, he looked like he was listening for something and didn’t respond to the original greeting. 

The two in the recording exchanged a few words that weren’t alarming, so Bruce went on. The Bat paused when Deathstroke mentioned a ‘little birdie brother’ referring to Red Hood. It seemed like the mercenary was testing Nightwing’s knowledge and not actually asking for an answer. 

Deathstroke then questioned whether Red Hood is in Arkham, which confirmed Bruce's idea. Deathstroke was the one who took Red Hood and well knew that Red Hood wasn’t in Arkham. 

What further proved the idea was when Deathstroke didn’t refute or question Nightwing’s general answer.

Near the end of the clip, when Deathstroke escaped, he looked back to say, ‘Tell the Bat that he’s no father’ which brought the thought that Deathstroke knew Red Hood well enough to where the mercenary would convey personal messages. 

The video stopped, but Bruce couldn’t stop replaying the point where Deathstroke claimed that Bruce wasn’t a father. 

Bruce knew what Deathstroke meant, and Bruce would be lying if he said it didn’t sting a bit. If Bruce were to analyze his own actions, he would only be more hurt, so he didn’t. He focused on Red Hood and Deathstroke, both killers, but never Jason, his son. 

Bruce concentrated on the actions of Red Hood. He attempted to understand the situation, yet kept any thoughts of Jason out. 

Bruce wanted to look at his actions through the scope of Batman. Batman tried to catch an associate who broke the rules and killed. Batman beat up the Red Hood. Batman hurt the Red Hood. Batman always had hurt criminals. Red Hood was a criminal. Therefore, it was okay for Batman to hurt Red Hood.

Bruce didn’t want to look at the situation through any other scope because then all he would find was abuse. Bruce is Jason’s father. Jason broke the rules. Jason’s father beat Jason up for breaking the rules. Jason had been hurt by his father. A father beating up his son is domestic abuse. Thus, Bruce was a domestic abuser. 

Bruce’s excuse was that although Jason was his son, Red hood could fight back, and even with Jason being Bruce’s son, no one should be exempt from punishment. Red Hood was a killer, and could a killer be Bruce’s son? 

Did Jason even think of Bruce as a father? Jason didn’t call Bruce ‘dad’.

At that point, Bruce was grasping at straws, trying to argue every excuse on why it was okay to beat up Red Hood. 

In the end, Bruce resolved that he was in the right as he still only wanted to look through the scope of Batman. Criminals should be punished. Red Hood, a criminal, was punished. 

Recently, Bruce found out that Penguin mysteriously was alive, so did Red Hood break the rules then? Brue would still answer ‘yes’ as Red Hood still shot Penguin fully knowing a headshot would kill.

But was that situation like when Red Hood ‘shot’ the governor? No, it couldn’t be. Red Hood also had a personal motive, Penguin being Red Hood’s biological father’s killer. 

So many questions… but would Bruce ever stop thinking about himself, realize the damage he had done, and ask the most important question, ‘is Jason, my son, still alive?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it’s shorter than normal! I won’t be updating next week since I haven’t found any time to write :(  
> Also, option 3 won!
> 
> Edit 2: I will be taking a (short) break from this fic and maybe even my other fic for the sake of my mental health and since I don't really have any time to write. But no worries, I'm not dropping it! <3
> 
> Edit 3 10/30/20: This chapter has been semi edited in an attempt to portray Dick more accurately. If you know how to write Dick's personality give me some tipppssss I'm dyinggg  
> Also feel free to call me out if I portray characters badly. I only read comics with Red Hood so I really don't know much about anybody else, even then, Idk how to even write Jason lmaoooo aslksjlklj


	16. I'm No Fool to Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Siames' song Young & Restless

After Jason’s small disagreement with Slade about the ‘bracelet,’ Jason let it go and served the lasagna he had cooked earlier. Soon, Jason’s mood lifted as he was happy to eat real food, not that MRE cardboard shit. 

Shockingly, Slade seemed, well, shocked. The guy barely showed emotion but didn’t even bother to hide how surprised he was at Jason’s cooking. Slade didn’t say much except, “Jesus, you’re a damn godsend, kid,” which was a massive compliment to Jason. 

Even without Slade saying anything, his body language displayed his fondness for the food. Slade seemed more open and less tense, dropping his guard a bit. Plus, Slade was motherfucking _devouring_ the dish of lasagna. 

In the end, Slade seemed in a better mood than Jason, and Jason was pretty damn content.

Jason baked a massive dish of lasagna and expected at least a few leftovers, but no, there were none. Slade ate a large majority of the dish, which, to an extent, Jason expected with Slade being a super-soldier.

When they both finished eating their hearts out, Jason started cleaning up, but Slade intervened. The mercenary used the ‘you cooked, so I’ll clean’ excuse _and_ the ‘you’re injured’ excuse to shove Jason out of the kitchen. Being stubborn, Jason tried to at least wash the dishes, but the older just got annoyed at the useless attempts to clean and literally carried the younger out into the living room. 

Eventually, while Jason waited for Slade to finish cleaning on the couch, the tired raven was lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of water running and dishes softly clinking. Thankfully, Jason didn’t have any nightmares as he was in a food coma from eating so much.

In the morning, Jason wasn’t in the best mood as Slade was sitting by the younger’s feet, expecting to have a ‘talk.’ Jason knew the look; Bruce always wore it before giving young Jason a lecture or when he did something disagreeable. Though generally, it was both. 

“Explain how you saw Nightwing,” Slade demanded, staring holes into Jason.

Jason groggily sat up and crossed his legs, leaving more space for Slade. He just woke up, it was morning, and his brain was still half asleep; he could barely comprehend the question, so Jason went for the shortest, most obvious answer. “I went out,” he replied with a ‘duh’ tone in his voice. Jason rubbed his face with his hands, trying to become more lucid, and he was pretty successful, being that after, the raven didn’t feel drunk. 

Slade growled, “Quit being a smartass. Elaborate, boy.”

“Jeez. No need to get your panties in a twist,” Jason drew out, pulled off the blanket that was covering him, and draped it over the couch arm. 

The younger began explaining the story, “I went out to get groceries from the store few blocks down, while I was checking out, out the window, I saw fuckin’ Nightwing sprinting across the roofs. He was headed in your general direction, so I thought I’d let you know. Had ‘ta run all the way back to the safehouse to get the tablet and contact you.” 

Jason didn’t expect a ‘thanks,’ but he really wanted one for warning Slade last night. However, after knowing Slade for some time, Slade wouldn’t say anything near ‘thanks.’ Not like Bruce ever thanked Jason either, so Jason probably shouldn’t be looking forward to a ‘thanks’ anytime soon. 

“Jesus Christ, the whole reason I said not to go out at night was to avoid Nightwing. You could’ve been seen and caught.” 

Jason was right. No ‘thank you for trying to warn me,’ just another lecture. But Jason should be used to that by now and just hope the lecture doesn’t last for more than thirty minutes. Well, he’d rather be lectured by Slade than Bruce, so it was a little better. 

Jason argued back, jabbing his finger at the older, “I dunno. It looks to me as if _you’re_ the one who got caught.”

“I can’t get ‘caught.’ You, on the other hand, could. I’ve seen you fight; you can’t defeat Grayson,” the mercenary spat back. 

Jason recoiled back, stunned by the somewhat harsh words that he knew was the truth. He couldn’t deny the fact that Dick was superior in terms of fair close-contact fighting. So, yes, if Jason had encountered Nightwing, there would probably be a huge brawl, and Jason would probably lose. 

At that point, Jason doubted that Slade had much more to say that would be of any importance. “Thanks for stating the obvious. Good talk,” Jason remarked, sarcastically with a fake grin and got up and left. 

“Hey--” Slade grabbed Jason’s wrist, presumably to scold the younger more. 

Jason hissed at the slight pain and instantly ripped his wrist out of Slade’s grip. “Back off, Slade,” he growled, glaring at the mercenary. “I get it. I won’t go out. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Jason picked up a nearly full pack of cigs that he had left on the coffee table and walked away to the balcony.

Once Jason went out onto the balcony, he shut the sliding door behind him in an attempt to have some privacy, but he could still feel Slade staring holes into Jason’s back. He set down the cigarettes on a small, black outdoor side table that sat at the corner of the balcony, which Jason had quickly glazed over on earlier visits. He noticed a glass ashtray on the table, the same one that he saw in Slade’s room. Jason decided to make use of it. 

\--

Jason ended up standing out on the balcony for a good three hours chain-smoking, avoiding Slade for as long as possible, clearing out the pack of cancer sticks, and filling the ashtray with almost twenty cigarettes worth of ash. 

In the end, Slade listened and backed off, not bothering Jason, who was busy drowning in smoke. 

Eventually, Jason went back inside, carrying the filled ashtray and then an empty cigarette pack. He slid close the balcony door behind him and immediately saw Slade.

Slade seemed to be waiting for the younger as he leaned against the wall right beside the balcony’s sliding doors. The mercenary’s eye immediately drew towards the ashtray that Jason was holding, and Slade narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment. 

Jason didn’t know if he felt creeped out, scared, or glad, knowing that Slade probably waited the whole three hours for Jason to come back inside. On the one hand, Slade could be waiting just to give Jason another lecture, which seemed plausible. On the other hand, Slade could have waited because he wanted to make sure Jason didn’t run off again, also reasonable. In the ‘not so likely area,’ Slade could have been waiting because he was worried or wanted to apologize. Both of those options were very unlikely. 

Jason moved over to the kitchen, ignoring the older. “Might want to restock. There are only two packs left,” he commented, wanting to break the awkward silence, as he disposed of the empty packaging and the ashes. 

Slade raised a brow at the remark and followed Jason into the kitchen. 

Jason looked at Slade and almost rolled his eyes. The expression Slade wore on his face was one that Jason was _very_ familiar with. 

Whenever Bruce wanted to make amends with Jason, he constantly had _that_ expression glued to his face. It seemed like a popular look among the emotionally inept. The expression normally meant, ‘I want to tell you something, but I’m nervous because I normally never show emotion.’ 

However, contrary to how Bruce acted, Slade actually took the initiative.

Slade slid what looked to be a credit card across the counter so that it was in lying in front of Jason but didn’t say a word. So actually, Slade was still similar to Bruce in how he didn’t know how to use his words. 

Jason rested the cleared ashtray on the counter and picked up the black credit card. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” He asked with a haughty tone, observing the back and front of the shiny card.

“It’s for you to buy food.”

Immediately, Jason was puzzled. A few hours ago, Slade was scolding him for going out, but now Slade _wanted_ Jason to go out? “I can’t go out,” the raven stated plainly. 

“I’m letting you buy food _online_ only. they’ll deliver it,” Slade replied. 

Jason lifted his head and stared at Slade in surprise, “You’re letting me use _your_ credit card?”

Now, Jason was a _little_ less confused. He was supposed to be paying Slade back, but now Slade is letting Jason freely use his credit card? Wouldn’t that kinda defeat the purpose of Jason paying him back? 

“Am I not eating what you make too?”

Jason tried to object, even though he didn’t have a solid argument ready, “But--”

“Shut up and take it, brat.” 

Jason held the card, contemplating if he should listen to Slade. Jason shouldn’t feel bad for accepting; the mercenary was loaded, so buying groceries every now and then shouldn’t even make a dent in his bank account. Plus, if Jason didn’t take the card, he would have to eat MREs for all of his stay. Just eating MREs for a couple of days was torture; Jason couldn’t imagine himself eating MREs for more than a week and not dying. 

“I’ll take it. But only because you’re fucking loaded, and I want to eat real food.” 

Unexpectedly, the corners of Slade’s mouth turned up slightly. “Good.” He frowned again and drew his glaze to Jason’s wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

Confused, Jason furrowed his brows and looked at his own wrist. Oh. That. Slade was talking about earlier when he had harshly grabbed Jason’s wrist. It wasn’t the arm that was in a cast, but at that moment, it still hurt a little. Looking at his wrist now, it had no trace of being injured, which was good.

Jason held his wrist up for Slade to see, “No, it’s fine.” He gave Slade a small reassuring smile.

Slade gently brought Jason’s wrist closer, pulling by the younger’s hand. Slade slowly turned the wrist in different directions, inspecting for injuries himself while being as tender as possible. Jason knew the mercenary would find nothing but let him continue. 

As Slade let Jason take back his arm, Slade whispered, what Jason could decipher as, a soft, “Sorry.”

Not sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sorry my break took so long :( However, I didn’t get anything done for this fic sooo hahaha. Though I did plan out the whole fic and it’s going to be about 60-70 chapters long, maybe more or less, depends. Oops. Also, normally, I release one chapter per week, but during December and summer, I’ll update more often (or at least I hope so)!
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment!


	17. Cathartic, to Say the Least

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out errors etc

The days after passed uneventfully. It was a little awkward around Slade after their argument, but that atmosphere quickly subsided within a couple of days. Everything was pretty dull. 

There was a kind of a routine that Jason could discern after a few days. Slade would wake up at around 7 am and take a shower, which would wake up Jason. During Slade’s shower, Jason would cook what usually consisted of coffee and a classic American breakfast. They’d eat, and depending on Jason’s mood; he’d also shower. After the morning ‘routine,’ everything would be more boring.

During most of the day, Slade would be either stuck on his laptop, working out, training, or cleaning weapons. On the other hand, Jason would hang around the couch, nap, clean, smoke, or find any source of entertainment on the tablet that Slade gave him. Out of all those activities, Jason’s favorite was cleaning. Not that help _liked_ cleaning, but it was busy work to keep him from going insane. Plus, Slade wasn’t all that much of a cleaner, so it was definitely beneficial for Jason to clean. 

The first couple of days, Jason would observe Slade assuming the older had an interesting routine. Jason was _way_ off the mark. Slade was interesting as a person, but most of the things he did at the safehouse made observing the mercenary equivalent of watching a blank wall. 

Nothing worth noting would even occur during lunch. 

The only time Slade did something of interest was when he trained. Obviously, to Jason, the next best thing to actually training was observing someone training. And after memorizing the daily routine, Jason knew when Slade was about to train. Usually, Slade would start either at 2 pm or 3 pm, but the biggest tell was when Slade would randomly stand in the middle of the living room, facing the large windows, and take off his shirt. 

Immediately after seeing those actions, Jason would stop whatever he was doing and study every movement. Slade would start off with stretching and martial arts. Midway through, he would grab his weapons from the bedroom closet and continue training. Slade trained for at least 2 hours, and the whole time Jason wouldn’t take his eyes off the mercenary. Sadly those 2 hours was probably the only entertaining period of each day.

During the evening, Slade would go out to do whatever the hell he does, but it can be safely assumed that he’s out on his jobs. However, Jason has hypothesized that he goes out to just run around the city. 

When Slade would go out, Jason found that during that area of time was the best time to nap. It wasn’t because he didn’t like to sleep with Slade around, but rather, Jason didn’t like sleeping on the couch, which doesn't make any sense without explanation. 

Jason initially always slept on the couch; it wasn’t lumpy or hard, but it was getting uncomfortable to lay on it 24/7. Thus, one day, when Jason was getting another pack of cigarettes, while Slade was out, he saw how comfy the bed looked. On an impulse, Jason snuggled up on the bed, and feeling softer than the couch; he ended up taking a nap. 

Eventually, throughout that past few days, Jason’s been napping on Slade’s bed every evening since it was ten times more comfortable than the couch. Slade probably already knew what Jason was doing, but even then, it seemed extremely awkward to do it while Slade was around. 

After napping, Jason would order food (thank god for Slade’s credit card) or cook dinner before Slade returned. So far, Jason has only ordered out once due to his intense craving for pizza, but he cooked the other days. 

Today, Jason decided to do some educational experimenting on the bracelet that Slade locked onto Jason’s wrist. Jason didn’t have any burning need to go outside, but he really wanted to do something of interest. Experimenting with the durability of the bracelet was something interesting. 

Since Slade seemed not to care if Jason was around knives, as long as it wasn’t Slade’s knives, Jason pulled a paring knife out of the knife block sitting next to the stove. 

He carried it over to the couch with him and sat down. Then, Jason rested his left arm firmly against his lower thigh and carefully searched for any seams in the bracelet; of course, he easily found one. With his right hand, he brought the pointed tip of the paring knife to the small seam that ran across the bracelet horizontally and tried to use it as a screwdriver, wedging the blade in. 

Once Jason was able to pry into the seam, he attempted to pivot the blade. That was when he noticed the tablet sitting on the coffee table automatically flashed on, showing a call in progress. 

Jason paused, putting down the knife. Soon enough, Slade’s contact ran across the screen, and the call was instantly accepted instead of requiring someone to take the call.

 _“Stop tampering with the bracelet,”_ Slade stated plainly. Jason assumed that the older was running as he could hear the soft pattering of footsteps and jostling of Slade’s swords.

Jason brought the tablet closer, placing it on the couch, and picked the knife up again, returning to his business. The raven then replied, “I haven’t got the foggiest idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

_“It’s not dumb, boy. It can sense you trying to pry it open.”_

The younger continued, not paying attention to the mercenary. “Mhm,” Jason hummed mindlessly.

Slade huffed, annoyed. _“Kid, if you don’t stop now, it’s automatically going to shock you--”_

“-Agh!” Jason hissed, slightly taken aback by the sharp electric shock. He shook out his hand, picked the knife back up, and flippantly said, “Damn. Surprised it didn’t do that earlier.”

Being realistic, Jason didn’t like getting shocked, but at least it was remotely interesting, which was probably the only thing that was driving him to continue. Not only was trying to break the bracelet interesting, but it was also productive. Jason would be entertaining himself while trying to achieve his outdoor freedom. It was basically killing two birds with one stone. 

_“Stop tampering with it,”_ Slade warned, growling low and violently, which probably would be cooler and more spine-chilling to hear in person.

Jason didn’t have a good history of listening, so it was only natural to not listen to Slade. This technically broke a rule, but Slade wasn’t actually there, so it’s no man’s land. “Fuck no. I’m bored, and it’s something to do,” the raven stated. 

Soft sounds of clanging and running filled the background before Slade responded, _“Then find something else.”_

Jason almost rolled his eyes at Slade’s response. “Been trying that the whole damn week,” He grumbled and went back to prodding at the bracelet’s seams. 

Did the mercenary even know how fucking torturous it was to be cooped up in a clean safehouse without being able to train while knowing that a deadly mercenary had to save you from your supposed dad? Training and fighting could easily take Jason’s mind off all those thoughts, but he couldn’t do that, so instead, he tried cleaning, which worked. However, he’s been cleaning so much that if he were to clean more, he’d probably scrub the varnish off the tables. Jason _needed_ not to be bored, or else he’d just ruminate in shitty thoughts.

“Fuck!” Jason cried out suddenly, getting shocked again, this time feeling more painful than before. He shook the feeling off and adjusted the knife in his hand.

Slade growled, vexed and defeated. _“... Fine, brat. If you stop damaging the bracelet and I’ll give you something to do.”_

“Alright, spill,” Jason reasoned, pulling the knife away from the bracelet. He was genuinely curious about what Slade was going to offer, though he didn’t have a lot of faith in the older. 

_“Go clean my weapons.”_

The ‘order’ raised Jason’s brows. He cuffed out a scoff at the irony of Slade’s order. A few days ago, Slade was lecturing Jason about breaking the rule, and now the mercenary was recommending him to break a rule. Plus, ‘not touching Slade’s weapons’ was probably the only rule Jason hasn’t broken. “Would love to, but did you forget your own rules? Can’t touch ‘em,” he prompted in an almost taunting tone.

_“I’ll let it slide for today.”_

Jason sprung up off the couch, letting the knife fall out of his hand. “No shit, really?” he asked for confirmation with the tips of his mouth growing into an excited smile. 

The mercenary sighed in defeat. _“Really, kid. The gun oil should be with the weapons. Don’t destroy anything,”_ he threatened, then abruptly ended the call. 

For all he knew, Slade could just be using him as free labor, cleaning the safehouse, cooking meals, and now, cleaning weapons. For all Jason knew, the ‘don’t touch Slade’s weapons’ rule might be some sort of reverse psychology in order to manipulate Jason into cleaning weapons for free. But even if it were some reverse psychology shit, Jason wouldn’t care since cleaning weapons weren’t bad and were definitely more fun than getting shocked by an overpriced dog collar. 

Excited, Jason burst into Slade’s room and quickly opened the closet. It was beautiful—rifles, swords, pistols, knives, bullets, and other weapons. 

He deeply inhaled the smell of gunpowder and gun oil, feeling at home. Jason instantly went for the pistols and knives since that was what he normally used and cleaned, being Red Hood. As he grabbed the pistols, he quickly noted that they were not loaded. Jason laid the weapons on the desk, in Slade’s room, before pulling out the cleaning materials that were plainly arranged in the closet. 

Jason was practically withering in contentedness as he cleanly disassembled a pistol. He quickly moved on to wiping the shell down with a cloth and scrubbing the barrel, chamber, sliders, and recoil spring. Normally, he only took five minutes to clean one pistol, but today, he took his time, carefully using a q-tip, laced in gun oil, to lubricate the slide rails, recoil springs, and any shiny areas that looked oiled before. 

It was cathartic, to say the least. 

After, he re-assembled the pistol, tested the slide action a few times, did a dry fire check, and heard the soft ‘click.’ Jason felt the weight and twirled the newly cleaned gun in his hand, feeling a little like himself again. He grinned before placing it down and going for the second pistol to clean. 

He hoped Slade wouldn't mind him tossing around the guns a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I updated twice this week, that's a new record. (imma try to update twice a week for the next 2 weeks)
> 
> I promise the plot is going to start moving now or within the next few chapters so stay with me 
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment! <3


	18. No More Oversized Hoodies and Sweater Paw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out errors! <3

Slade growled, annoyed. Apparently, the kid enjoys making Slade’s job more complicated than it already was. First, the kid blatantly went out shopping, then he got bored and decided to attempt to break the restraining bracelet. Slade had to let Jason clean his weapons as a last resort, but at least the kid seemed happy about it. Thank God he stayed entertained for a good couple of hours. Kids these days don’t know how to keep themselves busy. 

No doubt, Slade was going through a lot of trouble for one kid. However, there were still a  _ few _ upsides to Jason sticking around. For one: the kid cooked the  _ best _ home-made meals; two: the kid cleaned frequently. 

Usually, being alone, Slade didn’t have any issue with cooking or cleaning as most of the time he’d eat MREs, which only required a few bags to be thrown away. Though, the mercenary couldn’t deny that the home-cooked meals were far superior to the preservative-ridden MREs. 

The kid’s unexpected, shockingly good cooking skills were probably one of the only things making up for all the trouble. 

A few days ago, Slade gave one of his credit cards to Jason, which seemed to be preventing the kid from running off and providing Slade with god-tier food. However, Slade was still on edge, checking his credit card records daily to make sure the kid wasn’t buying a military tank or something. Gladly, the kid only bought food, drinks, and somehow, cigarettes.

Now that Slade thought about it, letting the kid clean his weapons was probably a good idea (not just because his weapons became clean enough to pass off as brand new). It didn’t take much to notice that the kid was stressed out, being restrained inside. Half of the time Slade saw the kid, Jason would be cleaning areas that were already pristine, and the other half of the time, he was sleeping or smoking. 

According to the credit card records, the kid bought seventy dollars worth of cigarettes, which Slade assumed he was just saving for later until the mercenary saw the kitchen trash can. With only one glance, Slade saw almost five empty cigarette packs and a ton of cigarette butts. It was worrying, for lack of a better word.

Slade was pretty sure that the kid wasn’t immune to lung cancer, and smoking more than a pack a day was an excellent way to get it. The kid didn’t even seem aware of how much he'd been smoking, which was even more worrying. 

The mercenary was rather concerned that he had started up the kid’s new dangerous habit. Jason seemed to only smoke here and there, but that changed after Slade had harshly lectured the kid about going out. That day, the kid had stood out on the balcony for multiple hours and blew through a whole pack of cigarettes within that time. After that, the amount of time Slade would see Jason smoking doubled. 

Though Slade could just be paranoid, and he probably was. Maybe the kid naturally smoked a lot, or maybe there was an increase in smoking, but it wasn’t attributed to Slade’s lecture; it could just be due to the kid’s boredom that he made apparent multiple times.

Another thing that Slade observed and became bothered about was the kid’s nightmares. Within the past five days of Jason’s stay, the mercenary was aware of four incidences that Jason has had a nightmare terrible enough to make the boy wake up shaking, drenched in a cold sweat. Three out of the four incidents, he was screaming. In all four incidences, the kid’s eye’s radiated a toxic Lazarus green, and in all four incidences, Slade made his best attempt in comforting the former.

Not all of the times that Slade  _ tried  _ to comfort the kid were successful. Two occasions were successful as Jason would slightly lean into Slade’s touch and eventually relax. Similarly, two instances went south. In the first bad incident, the older tried to shake the younger awake but resulted in the kid’s fist meeting a face. 

The second time was more recent and pretty similar to the first. Slade ended up on the ground with the kid, who seemed to be in a trance, sitting on his chest with hands around Slade’s neck. Fortunately, Slade didn’t need to use force to remove Jason off of his neck since the boy immediately snapped out of the trance and profusely apologized with a horrified expression and a shaky tone.

As worrying as the kid’s condition was, Slade was getting a little concerned about the bats. 

The mercenary has been picking up on some chatter that Nightwing was investigating multiple of Slade’s assassinations. Originally, Slade wasn’t too concerned since Bludhaven was a small city, and it was only natural for Nightwing to investigate murders and such. However, Nightwing also started to look into a few of Slade’s minor jobs that did not result in a dead body. To add to that, the mercenary has been hearing a lot of chatter saying the bluebird was asking for information concerning Deathstroke. 

Even with Nightwing investigating, Slade knew the former robin would be no trouble to deal with and ceased all concern. Sadly, it didn’t seem to be just Nightwing in Bludhaven. Some of Slade’s employers said they are worried about Batman since apparently, the big bat had beat up some criminals in Bludhaven last night. 

Tonight, Slade decided that he should confirm these rumors. He didn’t have any plan to actually engage in a fight with Batman, although he was tempted to beat the bastard up; Slade was just there to confirm from a  _ considerable  _ distance, which shouldn’t take very long.

Some parts of Slade only decided to only observe because he knew that if he were to get close to the Bat, Slade wouldn’t be able to stop himself from at least getting a few punches in. Not that beating up Batman was bad, but rather, Slade didn’t know if the kid wanted the Bat to be beaten up. It was still unclear to Slade whether the kid still had some sort of faith that Batman wasn’t that bad or had immense hate for the Bat. Mainly, Slade wanted to… consult Jason and respect his wishes before beating up his shitty father figure.

Slade started with baiting Batman by doing his typical job, killing. The mercenary assassinated some small-time drug lord that clearly was someone’s competition and then let the low goons spread the word a little. The cops were pretty backed up and weren’t coming any time soon, leaving a lot of room for Batman to investigate first.

Slade stayed concealed in an upper hotel suite of a building with a relatively clear view of the apartment that held the drug lord’s body.

As expected, Slade only had to wait a few minutes before he saw a shadow, leaping across the roofs, approaching the scene. But just by the movement of the shadow, Slade could instantly recognize that it was Nightwing, not Batman. 

He sighed, frustrated, and was about to leave before a second shadow approached. This shadow glided more than hopped, which was Batman’s profile. Both Nightwing and the other shadow entered the lighted apartment in order to get a look at the body. 

Now that the second shadow was in the light, it was palpable that it was Batman, no doubt. 

The mercenary watched closely as the two vigilantes stood over the bodies, discussing the circumstances and collecting evidence with a pair of tweezers. They seemed to be working together, which was worse and concerned Slade more. 

Slade growled. He got all that he needed, confirmation. 

There was no use in staying longer unless Slade wanted to be spotted by one of the vigilantes, so he quickly whipped around and left the area. 

With Batman and Nightwing in Bludhaven, working together and hunting down Deathstroke, staying in the city was too risky mainly because Slade didn’t want the kid to be carted off to some prison if the two vigilantes manage to find their current safe house. To an extent, protecting the kid was Slade’s priority. Plus, moving to another safe house would be pretty easy, and the job offers in Blud were getting a little bleak. There was no need to fret long when the solution was so simple. 

While Slade was heading back to the safehouse, a store caught his eye. It was a 24/7 department store. 

He paused to think. 

Currently, the kid would just wear Slade’s clothes, but they were too large for the boy and would drag on the floor or require some adjustments. The kid might appreciate some better fitting clothes, and Slade would definitely appreciate his clothes back. So buying Jason, some Clothes might be beneficial.

Slade approached the store’s front door. He was still in full Deathstroke gear, but luckily there was practically no one in the parking lot or the store, except for a few employees. 

The mercenary went in and grabbed a cheap, plastic shopping basket. As he entered, a few employees raised their brows but simply sighed as if people armed to the t shopping was normal. Either that or they didn't get paid enough to care. 

Soon enough, Slade made it to the clothes area, where he threw a few plain black t-shirts in the basket. He didn’t know what the kid liked in terms of clothes, so Slade just went for any basic, plain clothes. He also didn’t know what size Jason was and assumed a large would be sufficient. 

Slade scoured the store quickly, picking up plastic cling wrap for the kid’s cast, sweatpants, boxers, and a hoodie. All the clothing was plain black to make things easier. 

After, he brought the items to the checkout, where the minimum-wage employee didn’t bat an eye at Deathstroke and scanned the barcodes. In total, everything came up to around fifty dollars that Slade paid with some cash he had received from a minor job. The employee packed everything into a white plastic bag plastered with the store’s logo, and lazily handed it to Slade. 

The mercenary tightly tied the bag by the handles to prevent anything from flying out on the trip following. He then sauntered out of the department store and headed back, flying across a few roofs before spotting his motorcycle. 

As he drove, Slade contemplated which safe house to move to next and what city would be the best to avoid the bats. 

He definitely had one particular safe house in mind that Jason might like too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there's no dialogue :( 
> 
> Also, Real Eye Realize Real lie now has 1000 kudos! Thank you so much! Y'all are so sweet!! I never expected this to get that many kudos :000
> 
> And for anyone who's waiting for me to update my other fic, Cuddles and Stuff, I swear I have not forgotten about it and will update in soon!


	19. Just a Criminal

This time, Slade entered the safehouse through the balcony, expecting to see the kid on the couch or in the kitchen. He glanced around. Everything was quiet—no kid in the kitchen or the living room. Slade sighed, soon realizing where Jason was. 

In Slade’s room. 

Despite the kid’s attempt to hide the fact that he’d been napping in Slade’s room, the mercenary still knew. Whenever Slade would come back, Jason would already be awake or sleeping on the couch. But just by looking at the bed, Slade instantly knew whether the kid had slept in the bed. 

Slade made the bed every morning, military-style. Sheets tucked under the mattress with smooth 45-degree hospital corners, the bottom half of the pillows tucked under the sheets, everything smoothed out. After the kid would sleep in it, he would make the bed  _ almost _ identical to how the blankets initially had been. Just with a glance, Slade could immediately spot that the sheets were too smooth and too clean to be Slade’s work. 

It could be argued that Jason washed the sheets and simply made the bed again though Slade doubted the kid was washing the sheets every day, especially since Slade could smell the difference between new sheets and a few days old sheets. Plus, sometimes, the bed was still warm, which was a dead giveaway.

Slade gently pushed open the bedroom door to see Jason huddled up in the bed, blankets wrapping around his body tightly. He seemed almost too comfortable with one pillow underneath his head, and the other hugged between his arms. He didn’t even seem to care whether the bed came undone or not.

The older approached carefully and looked down onto the sleeping boy. “Hey, kid.” 

Jason stirred and lifted his head to look at Slade groggily, eyes cracked open. “Fuck,” he groaned in a raspy voice. “Hey, you’re back,” the kid then stated. He looked surprised and like a deer in headlights but more tired. Which Slade guessed was because the kid realized he was still in Slade’s bed.

“And you’re in my bed,” Slade said plainly with a brow raised. 

The kid propped himself up on his elbows and started trying to defend himself, “Yeah, about that-”

The mercenary interrupted and waved him off, “Don’t care, kid. I already knew you’ve been taking naps in my bed since the day you started.” What was a little surprising was that the kid didn’t seem shocked and actually looked relieved. 

“Great. Then if you don’t mind, Imma stay for a little longer.” Jason turned back to his side and threw his arms around the pillow before Slade even answered.

“Sure.”

After Slade answered, the kid got more comfortable. The younger nuzzled his face in the pillow he was hugging and shut his eyes again. His face was so firmly squashed in the pillow to the point where Slade wondered how he was even breathing. But clearly, the kid seemed content, so Slade didn’t say anything. 

Slade resisted the reaction to fondly grin and continued with his business. He unequipped his weapons and set them back in the closet with all the weapons before taking off his armor. Similarly, Slade placed his armor in the closet and went to the bathroom. He splashed his face with lukewarm water and brushed his teeth because he still somewhat cares for his dental health, even if he was a super-soldier. 

When Slade was about to go to sleep, he saw that the kid was still sleeping peacefully in the bed, and although the older was reluctant to wake the kid, he still did.

“Alright, brat, your time is up.” 

Jason rubbed his eyes and mumbled, “Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving.” The kid was still half-asleep and subconsciously still held one of the pillows as he rose from Slade’s bed. Jason headed to the living room, still holding the pillow. 

Then Slade remembered the clothes he’d bought earlier and grabbed the plastic bag from the floor. He gently tossed the bag to Jason. “Here.”

The younger caught it with one hand, the other occupied by the pillow. “Was’ this?” He questioned, slurring tiredly. 

“Clothes,” Slade replied, leaning against the bedroom’s door frame.

Jason stared mindlessly but soon responded, “Oh. Thanks.” 

Slade watched for a little longer as Jason paced the bag next to the couch and carelessly flopped onto the couch. Identical to before, the kid covered himself in blankets and cuddled the pillow. Slade debated whether to retrieve his pillow from the kid. Still, he decided against the idea, reasoning that remaining one pillow was enough for himself and that Jason seemed to already claim the other as his.

\--

The next morning, Jason, like always, woke up around nine and cooked breakfast. Today he served generously stuffed omelet, pan-fried sausage links, and lemon strawberry scones baked a few days ago. As usual, the food was delectable. 

It was then when Slade decided to break the news to Jason, but it was expected news, so Slade didn’t really expect any significant reaction. “Pack your stuff today; we need to move soon,” Slade casually mentioned. 

As expected, the kid simply shrugged and said, “Alright, you’re the boss.” 

They continued eating for a little more, but Slade could tell that Jason wanted to ask questions. Thus, the mercenary tried his best to look not pissed off and look open to questions. Though, he didn’t really know how not to look pissed off besides not thinking about things that piss him off, which might lower the angry aura. But then again, the kid was the type to not give a damn about the emotions of the situation and probably would enjoy pissing people off more. 

“Jobs not offering enough money?” The kid finally queried, placing down his half-full mug of coffee from which he had taken a sip. 

Truthfully, the jobs were becoming sparse and less of the mercenary’s liking, yet it was clear from who he saw yesterday that ‘sparse jobs’ wasn’t the main reason to leave Bludhaven. Slade swallowed the last bite of his scone and hummed, “That is a part of the reason.” 

“Then what's the other part?” Jason asked curiously and looked back down at his omelet to section off a bite-sized piece. For the short while that he waited for a reply, he filled his mouth with the omelet, taking his time to chew.

Slade didn’t see much of a point in hiding or lying to the kid, so he replied thoughtlessly, “Bats.” Only after the words left his lips did he remember that the kid had just been beaten by the Bat and wished he had revealed the reason less flippantly. 

Immediately after the older truthful responded, the kid made a flinch that without a well-trained eye would easily go unnoticed. The kid stopped chewing, then continued taking a few seconds to clear his mouth. “I thought Nightwing wasn’t a problem,” he stated, brows slightly furrowed. 

“He isn’t,” Slade affirmed. He sighed softly (but it ended up resembling a low growl) and carried on with the facts, “I confirmed some rumors yesterday.” 

The kid looked at the older with anticipating eyes, unmoving.

“The big bat is in ‘Haven,” the mercenary angrily stabbed his fork into his last link sausage.

Jason’s eyes flickered to his plate for a moment but then stared back at Slade. “You saw him?” he asked with a scoff-like chuckle. 

“Yeah, he was with Nightwing. Grayson’s been investigating my jobs.”

“Huh,” the kid puffed, placing his fork down and leaning back in his chair. He wore an investigative expression as if he were devising a plan. “They're both investigating you then.” 

Again, Slade responded thoughtlessly with the first words that come to his mind, “I stole his kid. It’s assumed from the beginning that he’d investigate me.” He regretted using the words ‘stole’ and ‘his kid.’ For one, Slade technically  _ saved _ Jason, not steal him, and second, Slade didn’t think Batman was very worthy of Jason being ‘his kid.’ Plus, the last time Slade mentioned the Bat being Jason’s dad, the kid lashed out. 

Surprisingly, the kid merely scoffed. “Not his kid. Jus’ a criminal he uses as a punching bag and wants to put in Arkham.”

The kid’s reply almost made Slade cringe in heartache, his training being the only thing preventing him from showing doing so. Slade despised how Jason insouciantly said that Batman thought of his supposed son as a mere ‘criminal' and ‘punching bag.’ 

The mercenary was bothered by Batman’s postulated bad opinion yet was more bothered by the kid’s tone. The kid said the remark as if he had accepted it as if it were a fact, like he gave up trying to defend himself. It was heart-rending. 

Slade was also bothered by how the kid thought of his ‘dad.’ He wasn’t vexed that the younger thought of Batman so lowly but rather was angered at the Bat’s behavior. Bruce had acted so revoltingly and unforgivably to the point where his ‘son’ is convinced that his ‘dad’ only thinks of him as a punching bag. A son just doesn’t say those things aimlessly. Slade didn’t even want to imagine the crimes Bruce has done to Jason that made the kid set on the idea that he’s Bruce’s ‘punching bag.’ 

Slade paused from eating and looked at Jason. “Well, kid, then you wouldn’t mind if I land a few punches on him the next time I see him.” The question seemed to lighten Jason’s mood a little, which also resulted in Slade’s mood lifted.

Soon, the kid playfully snickered and agreed, “Go to town. He probably needs more than a few.”

“Yeah, he does.” The older then grinned for a split second before returning his attention back to the food. And Jason did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh yeah sry that its a little short


	20. Water Can Flow or It Can Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Bruce Lee lol. Feel free to point out errors especially since I did not get to re-read this chapter to make sure it actually sounded okay.

“Do you have an extra duffle bag?” Jason asked, ready to pack his stuff up.

They had just finished breakfast, so Slade was busy washing dishes. He paused and glanced at Jason, who was lounging in the family room. The mercenary didn’t say anything, putting a dish in the dishwasher, then pulling off the rubber gloves he was wearing.

He went into the bedroom where Jason could see Slade rummaging through the closest before pulling out a large, black duffle bag with no name brand. Eventually, Slade came back out and lightly tossed the bag to Jason, who caught it seamlessly. 

“Thanks,” The younger said softly, holding the bag in his hands. 

Without further ado, Jason gathered all the things that he considered his, which wasn’t much. He stuffed the new clothes Slade had bought him at the bottom of the bag, knowing that the clothes were probably the only things Jason knew were his. 

The funny thing was that, even though Slade bought Jason clothes, the latter continued to wear Slade’s clothes. Jason planned on changing into pants and boxers that were more his size but internally refused to change his sweatshirt. 

The sleeves on Slade’s sweatshirt required to be folded up whenever Jason cooked since they always draped inches past his wrists. Although it was cumbersome to fold up his sleeves multiple times a day, Jason knew comfort and comfort always won. 

Interestingly, the oversized sweatshirt reminded him of the red hoodie Jason always wore when he was just a kid in the Crime Alley. It was warm, large, and soft. What more could he ask for? Except technically, the sweatshirt was Slade’s, and he probably wanted it back. Jason pressed his lips into a thin line at the thought and decided to continue to wear the sweatshirt until Slade explicitly asked for it back. Slade at a good amount of hoodies and sweatshirts, so Jason doubted that the mercenary would care too much about one sweatshirt. 

Jason soon continued packing, adding the fluffy blanket he’d been using into the bag since it fit, and the raven had grown a tad attached to the blanket recently. After, he stuffed the remaining packs of cigarettes, a lighter, and the tablet into the bag’s smaller side pockets. Jason thought for a good few minutes about anything else he had to pack but remembered that he barely owns anything and that the next safe house will probably have everything necessary. 

He zipped the bag and placed it on the couch before sitting down beside it. Jason’s eyes followed Slade, who looked to have also started packing. The silence was a little tiring, and Jason had a shit-ton of questions running around in his mind, so he thought that he might as well ask some of them now. “We movin’ somewhere good?” 

Slade replied, without taking his focus off the task at hand, “The city’s crime rate is lower than Gotham’s. Is that good enough, brat?”

“The safehouse, not the city,” the younger corrected. “And why would I give a fuck about the city if I can’t even go out?” 

Honestly, Jason would be okay with any city as long as it wasn’t Gotham and was more concerned about the state of the safehouse. He wasn’t picky or anything, but he’d prefer to sleep in an actual bed rather than a couch. He’d also like it if he had his own room, but that was stretching his luck a little too far.

“Lower chance of someone breaking in. And the safehouse is fine; you might like it,” the older said, scarily sounding like he actually cared about Jason’s opinion. 

“Uh-huh,” Jason deadpanned incredulously. Even Bruce barely knew what Jason like, so how could Slade know? Jason followed up with another remark, “Fat chance this safe house isn’t going to be topped.”

Considering the current safe house was one of the best and most expensive safehouses Jason has ever stayed in, he doubted that Slade could do better. The safehouse was already top of the line; it couldn’t get much better. However, Slade had money, _a lot of money_ , so who knows what to expect.

Slade raised a brow, “Really?”

“This is a luxury apartment, it has a mediocre view, and it’s clean.” Surprisingly, most of the safehouses Jason bought were cheap, typically in the Crime Alley, which meant it would sometimes have rats, not be clean, or have shitty, half-dead appliances. So safehouses being real clean was new to Jason. 

“Good. If you’re rating the safehouses on the cleanliness and the view, then the next safe house will be more than fine.” 

“Depends,” Jason shrugged. After a short silence, he asked his next question, “What city?” 

“Around Metropolis.”

Immediately, Jason cringed. “Damn, Slade, what the hell is with you and picking areas that have well-renowned heroes?”

Metropolis was still pretty close to Gotham, but that wasn’t the problem. The fact that Superman, who is a friend of Batman, lived in Metropolis was the most worrying. Big Blue also has super hearing, which Jason didn’t know the full extent of. If the hero knew Jason was around, he’d definitely tell Bruce, which would fuck up everything. 

“I said _around_ ,” Slade growled out, emphasizing ‘around.’ “We’ll be in the area that’s at least twenty miles from the Metropolis border, and I don’t plan on taking you into the city.” The mercenary explained, understanding that Jason was concerned about Superman being in Metropolis. 

“Yeah, yeah, couldn’t you have picked a city without Big Blue like Star Cit-” Jason began to present the idea of staying in Star City since Green Arrow was easier to deal with and Jason kinda wanted to see Roy. Of course, Jason was interrupted by Slade. 

“No,” the older growled out forcefully as he harshly stuffed a sheathed sword in his own duffle bag. 

Jason pursed his lips, remembering how much he’s heard about Green Arrow and Deathstroke trying to kill each other. “Right. Forgot you have some serious beef with Green Arrow,” he remarked in a mocking tone. 

“Metropolis has well-paying jobs--” the mercenary started.

This time, Jason was the one to interrupt. “Let me guess, Lex wants to hire you,” he said, half-joking while rolling his eyes at Slade's non-stop obsession with money.

The older finally temporarily stopped packing and looked at Jason. Slade growled out, “Look, kid, keep your nose in your own business. Until you’re actually out in the field, who’s offering jobs doesn’t concern you.”

Just by Slade’s behavior, pausing to denounce the younger and taking his focus off packing, Jason could deduce that he guessed right. However, Jason wasn’t being serious with his guess and didn’t expect to guess correctly. “Whoa- Shit, is he really hiring you?” He asked in disbelief, jerking up from the couch he had practically melted into being slouched so far down.

Slade didn’t reply so Jason approached the former to confirm. Jason stared into Slade’s eye, trying to decide whether fucking Lex Luther was actually hiring Deathstroke. 

“Oh, my- fuck-- Lex _is_ hiring you!” The raven declared, convinced from Slade’s body language and by his gut feeling. 

Jason didn’t really care about Slade’s jobs but really? _Lex Luther_? That dude is like the Joker of Metropolis but less mentally insane. Jason was just surprised that Slade was getting hired by a fucking supervillain who’s always trying to kill Superman. The raven was almost disappointed that Luther wasn’t Gotham’s iconic villain. Compared to the Joker, at least Luther made some cool tech and seemed like an interesting guy. 

Slade abruptly roughly ruffled Jason’s hair to shut Jason up, seeming desperate to move to a different topic. “Pack some food; we’ll need it for the drive.”

Being the nice person he was, Jason decided to go along with the change of topics. “Why? From Haven to Metropolis should only be, at tops, three hours. Are you planning to drive across the whole country and back or some weird shit like that?”

Jason knew that they would have to drive _around_ Gotham, which would definitely take some time, but Metropolis wasn’t even that far, being another neighbor of Gotham.

“You ask too many questions, boy,” Slade commented, going back to packing. 

Jason already wanted to take some food but now was genuinely curious what route Slade planned to take. Thus, Jason stood his ground and annoyingly stared at Slade, not taking ‘You ask too many questions, boy’ as an answer. 

Slade seemed trying hard to look away, but in the end, he just grit his teeth and finally fessed up, “We can’t risk passing through Gotham on the way up, so we have to go around, and we need to avoid traffic cameras. So no main roads. I factored everything into the route, which made the driving time longer.”

The raven sighed. “Yeah, alright, I’ll just pack whatever’s leftover.”

Then, Jason rose from the couch and grabbed a reusable canvas bag from the kitchen. He opened the fridge and stared. There were a few baked goods, some bread, and as he expected, last night’s leftovers, which was beef stroganoff with a side of green beans. Since the food was already stored in airtight plastic containers that Jason bought off Amazon earlier, he just stacked everything into the canvas bag. 

After, Jason placed the canvas bag full of food next to his duffle bag on the couch and continued to wait for Slade, who seemed to be busy deciding how much ammo to take. The younger wanted to get a better look at what Slade was doing, so he left the couch and moved to the bedroom. There, the mercenary was stuck in front of the closet looking at weapons and holding a half-full duffle bag, not paying any attention to Jason, who had entered the room. 

Jason flopped onto the bed, laying on his belly with his head propped up on his hands. He gazed at the older and decided to keep quiet instead of making witty remarks. 

Soon, after a good ten minutes passed, Slade closed the closet and zipped up the duffle bag. The mercenary looked over to Jason, still lying quietly on the bed. “Alright, kid. Let’s move,” Slade said motioning to the door with his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately, this is the last week that i’ll be updating twice a week :,( I’ll still try to update on Sundays, but my schedule will probably be a little rocky since my upcoming semester is super packed with 2-3 essays due per week and three large projects. But worry not! I will be posting twice a week in the summer (or around may - august)! 
> 
> Also, Happy holidays! <3


	21. Road Trip to New Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 2/4/21: edited by renewyorkairs who is a godsend

At sunrise, Jason followed Slade, you know, the way a chick follows its mother–willingly and instinctively, or some shit. Leaving their living space behind, Jason waited, glancing at his wrist, while Slade locked the door for the last time. He hadn’t been outside these walls since Slade put him under house arrest. The mercenary punished him twice for the simple act of buying groceries, first by locking the stupid shock collar onto his wrist and second after turning his lasagna into a disappearing act. Obviously, Jason was happy to share, but who the fuck eats the last piece of someone else's meal without asking first? Taking the elevator down, they exited through the back door of the complex without any issues whatsoever.

Slade let go of the hood connected to Jason’s sweatshirt after pushing him into the parking lot. Jason, who wasn’t feeling spectacular, expected to see the motorcycle pulled up in the alley, but he expected wrong, _again_. 

“Keep up, kid,” Slade grumbled. At a pace that more closely resembled jogging, the old man continued walking past the lot and into an alley. 

“Fuck–I’m trying,” huffed Jason, with a hand on his heart as if something as simple as touch could slow his heart rate. But Slade had a longer stride, wasn’t injured, and hadn’t... “Just slow down.” He lagged behind until they reached the back of another building Jason had never seen. Hidden from view was a parking lot occupying just three cars and no motorcycle.

Slade removed a keychain from his pants pocket that held one key and a single fob. He pressed a button, and a car near the end of the lot beeped in response. Jason followed the mercenary, who was carrying both duffles toward the vehicle.

It was a suspiciously normal-looking black sedan that unfortunately featured no interesting tech. “Underpaid office worker” was not a look Jason had any interest in advertising. Then again, he was wearing an oversized sweatsuit. Where the fuck did Slade even get this, and what the hell happened to their motorcycle?

“Don’t recall you having _this,_ ” Jason said with a frown, gesturing to the new form of transport. 

Slade didn’t even spare a glance as he replied, “Didn’t feel like traveling on a motorcycle.” 

“Let me guess,” said Jason with one raised brow, “you bought this before your hair turned white?” Of all the memories trapped behind the fog, Jason can remember Slade having a full head of white hair back when he was still Robin, and that was basically a lifetime ago. 

“Boy, I didn’t even start graying,” Slade began, “but it seems to me you’re already a quarter way there.” He turned a piercing eye towards Jason’s white tuft that sat proudly on his hairline.

“My–I’m not–” Jason started, failing to locate the right words. “There’s a fucking difference. Mine’s not from aging, you old geezer.” 

“Don’t make assumptions that you can’t back up,” warned Slade. “Care to share how yours started?”

“Fuck you,” said Jason, running a hand through his hair. “I was just joking.” 

Jason was not prepared for this discussion and had no intention of sharing what kind of experience, or trauma, can turn an actual kid’s hair from black to white. Still, he was curious to learn what caused Slade’s hair to change and if he might somehow extract this story without having to dig into his own past. 

“Whatever you say, kid,” said Slade, effectively ending their conversation. 

The old man threw their duffles in the back and strode to the front passenger side. Swinging the door open, Slade stepped aside with a motion that directed him to get in quickly. Jason entered the vehicle in a way that could only be described as _not_ graceful because crouching into a sedan with his current list of injuries wasn’t painful or anything. 

Once he was finally settled, Slade looked at him like he might try to buckle him in; Jason warned him with a glare that to do so would be a _grave_ mistake. Slade shut the door with one smug chuckle. If the seating arrangement was cozy for Jason, then it sure as hell wouldn’t be comfortable for Slade, who somehow maneuvered his giant ass into the driver’s seat.

Slade pulled out his phone and opened up his own GPS. He typed in an address and selected a series of routes before propping the phone against the odometer behind the steering wheel. Out of curiosity, Jason leaned over to glance at his chosen route. Twelve hours? Twelve fucking hours. That couldn’t be accurate. Jason knew they’d be taking a longer route, but he’d anticipated two and a half hours, four hours at most–not twelve or more. Jason’s day could not get any worse. 

“So,” Jason began, “normally I’d agree to not use main roads in order to avoid cameras and all. But this is absurd... even for you. It’s five times longer than the fastest route.” He didn’t expect Slade to change his mind or anything, but he just couldn’t stop himself from stating the obvious.

Slade started the engine and couldn’t pass up an opportunity to state the obvious either. “It’s only half a day, boy. You’ll live.” 

Yeah, Jason would physically live, but his mind would have no trouble lying to him. He proved to be pretty damn antsy in a decently-sized apartment; he wasn’t feeling great right now, and being stuck in a car for that long would turn him into someone else completely. Grabbing the back of his hood, Jason struggled to pull the oversized hoodie off with his seatbelt fastened and one good arm. He gently removed the last sleeve before tossing the sweatshirt to the backseat. Jason’s chest still itched with adrenaline. If only he could find a distraction–something to clear his head. 

_Twelve hours in a small ass car_.

“Stop breathing so loudly,” said Slade. “It’s obnoxious. Calm down, boy.” He tried to pat Jason on the head, but Jason wasn’t a damn dog. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he said, deflecting the mercenary’s hand with his left arm–the one in a cast. “I’m injured, remember?” Slade took the hint and withdrew his arm.

Jason took a deep breath, inhaling that new car smell. He would always choose to ride on a motorcycle, driver or not. An average car was basically a cell. Four walls, four seats, four feet of free space–and a trunk if you had shitty luck. With a motorcycle, the rush of air and thrill of danger lifted his spirits. Hell, even a sports car would make him feel better, not that he wanted to be seen with Slade in a convertible by anybody, especially the bats. 

He had to admit that driving could be entertaining with the right sports car at the right time **–** _more specifically_ –cars belonging to Bruce that Jason drove without permission. Being a passenger with zero agency under Slade’s watch, however, would be a real riot. Jason put his forehead in his hands and groaned.

“You’ve had night shifts longer than this drive,” said Slade. “Relax, kid.” 

“ _Sure_ , nothing to worry about,” he said, wringing out as much sarcasm as he could. 

Fuck. Jason wished he'd packed more food.

***

Jason was right. The drive was one-hundred-percent, making him stir-crazy. Up until now, he had never spent long periods of time with Slade in close proximity. Back at the safe house, Jason kept himself occupied by cleaning, cooking, and sleeping, while Slade worked jobs when he wasn’t training or researching. It felt like the car was growing smaller with each passing minute. How was Jason supposed to ignore Slade when he was less than a foot away? He couldn’t even breathe without Slade berating him. Before, Jason could easily step outside onto the balcony where he had space to himself. 

Cracking his window open, Jason hoped it would eliminate some of the tension. The sudden influx of wind felt good on his face as the _whoosh_ of air lifted the crushing silence that filled the space between them. It almost made Jason forget that they had only clocked one hour. Sweet. Just eleven hours of torture remaining. 

Jason unpacked a cigarette and a lighter from the right pocket of his sweats. As he drew a light, Slade immediately flicked the stick out of Jason’s fingers. It snapped in two before it fell in his lap. Fuck, that was fast. 

“No smoking,” ordered Slade with a look that emphasized he was not kidding. 

“But you smoke,” argued Jason. He knew this for a fact, he thought. 

“I don’t.”

“Right... so you didn’t have a full carton in your safe house?”

“I _did._ Doesn’t mean I use them, kid.”

“Then what are they for? Aesthetics?” Jason stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. “If that’s the case, I would be happy to suggest better options.”

“Are you going to sit there insulting the amenities I provide in the rent-free space you get to squat in?”

“I already said I’d pay you back.” 

“Until you make good on that, stop complaining.” 

Jason had no intention of suffering through more of this small talk, or whatever it was civilians did when they were trapped in a car with the most boring person alive. So he decided to take a nap. With his car seat pulled down, he was able to reach his arms above his head toward the back seats and pull out the blanket he packed into his duffle bag. With a small barrier between him and Slade, Jason felt a heck of a lot better huddled up in his blanket.

***

Jason could feel the graveled tones of a drowned-out voice speaking next to him. Cracking one eye open, he saw a somewhat blurry Slade through the morning light. And the car seemed to have stopped moving.

“Kid,” the old man called. Slade had opened the passenger side door and was using one hand to lean against the car frame and the other to hold the door open. He was hunched over Jason, looming to be precise.

“Urg–fuck… We there yet?” He asked, blinking his eyes a few times. 

“This is a gas station,” Slade answered. “Go in and grab some snacks if you want.” 

Actually, Jason was craving junk food even though it couldn’t be later than 9 am. He folded the blanket that rested on his body, shoving it aside as he roughly scooted out of the car. Slade stood up, taking his hands off the frame of the door, and stepped back, allowing space for Jason to get out. 

Jason finally responded. “ _Anything_?”

“Limit it to anything edible,” Slade clarified as he shut the car door.

“Fine.” 

The mercenary immediately stopped him and fetched two twenty dollar bills out of his wallet, handing them to Jason. “Here, use cash.” 

Jason didn’t question the cash, but it did make him wonder how much debt he was accruing. 

“M’kay,” Jason hummed, taking the bills, as Slade looked at him like he was expecting something more. 

Shit. Where were they? Jason felt a chill in the air unencumbered by tall buildings on this crisp morning. He glanced around, observing a run-down gas station that looked as if it hadn’t been renovated for several decades with mildew and rust creeping up the sides of the building. Even the pavement was old, riddled with cracks where weeds were growing in the seams. The surrounding area was rural farmland with no other buildings in sight. There were a couple of tall trees leaning but mostly it was just fields and fences.

Jason meandered past the fueling tanks and entered the kiosk. Walking through the snack aisles, he selected two bags of jerky, a few bags of potato chips, some cookies, a muffin or two, and a chocolate candy bar. He brought these to the counter and moved on to the fridges on the wall, collecting a coffee, a couple of different sodas, some water, and an ice cream sandwich. 

After cataloging each item in his head, he was satisfied with what forty dollars could buy outside the city. As he checked out, he observed the cashier, a teenage girl, sneaking quick glances either at the white streak in his hair or the deep bruises on his face as she bagged up his snacks. It didn’t really bother him, but those weren’t the types of things that stood out in a larger city, where he could easily preserve his anonymity among strangers. 

Jason found Slade waiting for him as he stood leaning against the passenger's side door. 

“Alright, kid, you ready?” 

“Yep,” he said, wiping his mouth and folding up the wax paper that previously housed the ice cream sandwich he’d just inhaled.

Slade swung open door for Jason. Even though his body was telling him not to get in, Jason lazily placed the snacks at the foot of the car and stepped in.

“Good.”

***

While Slade drove, Jason broke into his snacks, twisting open a soda bottle and using his teeth to tear into one of several chip bags. Licking the salt off his fingers, he noticed _his driver_ glaring at him, and Jason smiled in return.

Slade ripped the can of coffee out of Jason’s hand while he wasn’t paying attention. He then lifted the can, cracked it open with his thumb and took a long and satisfying sip. That was Jason’s coffee, but now it seemed to be Slade’s. 

“That was mine,” Jason stated without trying to sound disappointed. Coffee was what he’d wanted most of all. 

Slade crushed the empty can before dropping it into a cupholder. “It _was_. And purchased with _my_ money.”

Jason didn’t argue further as Slade had a valid point. Where were they even? He hadn’t been paying attention, and now he was feeling a renewed sense of anxiety. He didn’t know how to escape the overwhelming dread clinging to him like a shirt full of static. Jason rolled the metal bracelet on his wrist, wincing at the words he’d left at the safe house. Maybe he could convince Slade to let him drive. Just to take the edge off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Not to give any spoilers but I always get the sudden inspiration to write a million arguments between Jason and Slade that are hella angsty and eventually lead to hurt/comfort lol  
> Andddd imma include every single one so watch out


	22. Via Muniunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to renewyorkairs, my new editor and alpha reader. Jesus, you’re a damn godsend. <3<3<3<3

Slade was getting really damn annoyed. 

“I’m bored,” whined the raven. He was chewing on his lip and shaking a restless leg. Slade was glad he drank his coffee. “Need a break, old man?” 

For the first four hours, the kid slept or stared blankly through his window. Unfortunately, things changed when Slade fed the monster. Fueled by a massive amount of junk food, this brat seemed to think he was capable of driving. Every time Slade found himself enjoying the quiet country road, the kid shattered the silence.

“I’ll drive,” said the kid, as if he were the one calling the shots. “Pull over. Let’s switch.”

They both knew Jason could drive, but Slade had _already_ told him no for two reasons. For one, the raven could further injure his _still_ broken arm. Second, Slade doubted the kid had a proper driver’s license. What if he totaled the car on a state highway? It could easily tip off the bats. Letting him drive was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Slade would bet the only driving lessons the kid got were from Batman. 

“I can drive,” Jason reminded him. For the fifth time. 

Sure, the kid _could_ drive but, Jesus, could he give it a break already? All he wanted was a quiet twelve-hour drive. Was that too much to ask? “Look, kid, I’m not doubting your driving skills,” said Slade through gritted teeth. 

“And, I’m a good driver,” he wagered. “So, why not?” 

The kid would make a decent getaway driver. Slade had seen his impressive high-speed turns before. However, the issue was that Slade never confirmed whether Jason’s driving skills could pass for a normal civilian. Watching Red Hood on a motorcycle led him to believe otherwise, and he was not in the mood to test this now.

It wasn’t a mystery that the kid was taking pleasure in angering him with his incessant finger-tapping on the passenger dash. Enhanced hearing wasn’t always a gift, especially now. 

“Just let me fucking drive,” he pressed. If he tapped any harder, Slade was sure the kid would activate an airbag to the face. At least that would shut him up. “C’mon, Slade.” 

“You’re not driving with that arm _in a cast_.” Which was one of only several injuries, but he was careful not to insult his sensitive passenger. He’d lived with this brat long enough to know the argument wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Even with a blindspot, he couldn’t miss the kid’s dramatic eye roll. Jason was twenty-two years old, not an actual child, but Slade couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Okay, and?” Jason taunted, leaning forward, so he was staring at Slade’s good eye. “My arm’s broken, not my hand. And you’re driving one-handed as we speak. Why won’t you just trust me? Scared I’ll run off the road, old man?” 

Scared was not a word most people would use to describe Deathstroke–or Slade Wilson–for that matter. Can’t the kid see that he’s taking necessary precautions? Let’s say he did let the kid drive, and there was a serious collision. Slade would survive, but Jason didn’t have the same regenerative powers. If Slade had to deal with temporary whiplash _on top_ of Jason’s bickering, the kid wouldn’t live to see another day. See, it was all about precautions.

“No,” repeated Slade. “You’re not driving. I don’t need your help.” 

Jason scoffed, “At least I have _two_ good eyes.” The kid’s face was fueled by contempt. 

Slade, without hesitation, extended his right arm and lightly cuffed the kid on the back of the head, just enough to wipe that smug grin off Jason’s face.

“Ow!” he growled, recoiling as if Slade hit him hard. For the record, he did not.

“End of discussion,” Slade asserted harshly, concentrating on the road ahead instead of the emotional pain on the kid’s face. He couldn’t lie; it bothered him. “Do not mistake me for your former mentor. If you challenge me, I will challenge you _ten times harder_. Do not test me, Jason.” 

“Wow. I’m really getting to you, aren't I?” he jeered with a surprising amount of pride seeping into the words. Jason cracked several knuckles with a palm against his fingers before opening his mouth _again_. “Better not pass out, gramps.”

“ _Jesus Christ_ , boy, you’re not going to drive, and I’m not going to pass out.” If it were anyone else, Slade would ignore this blatant display of attention-seeking, but this kid knew just how to get under his skin. Slade felt that itch again–this time, as a responsibility, to clarify every statement so there wouldn’t be a fallout between him and the boy. 

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” The brat was incredulous. “I guess it’s better _you_ drank _my_ coffee. Let me know when it wears off.”

Twelve hours of freeway driving would not wear Slade out. As a super-soldier, he endured extreme conditions with little-to-no sleep; being older didn’t make him any less formidable. The kid knew this, so it was perplexing for him to joke about Slade passing out from exhaustion, of all things. Slade would never take a job like this again, even if it paid well. Because driving with this little shit has been the most exhausting task of all, and Slade took it for _free_ –initially. 

“Just a fucking freeway,” he grumbled, shifting his weight around. The kid winced, holding his side with eyes that could start a fire. “Tiny fucking sedan. Fucking Slade.” 

Even in the privacy of his own mind, Slade continued to fixate on why Jason was so adamant about being in the driver’s seat. The boy had been imprisoned, for lack of a better term, within the walls of the last safe house. Slade had deactivated the restraint bracelet on the kid’s wrist, but he still heard it scrape against the dash every now and then. 

***

Back when they first left the safe house, the kid seemed eager to leave. He shadowed Slade down the elevator and through the lobby–that is–until he walked through the building’s back exit. Jason stopped abruptly, eyeing him with suspicion. 

“Fuck you, Slade.” 

“What is it, kid?”

“‘Varying voltages'.”

“Excuse me?”

“ _This._ ” He pointed to the shock bracelet, looking pissed.

“It’s been deactivated.”

“You sure?”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t turn it off?” 

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I… assumed that you’d… ”

“...I’d hurt you?” Slade grimaced, detecting a burn inside his chest. 

“I–Yeah? People seem to enjoy hurting me–look, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Y–”

“I’m used to it. Just drop it.” Jason turned away from Slade, looking like he had been backed into a corner.

“It’s not a punishment,” Slade started, but Jason wasn’t even listening. It was a safeguard–to always have one eye on him. He had to pull the extremely agitated kid through the door by the hood of his sweatshirt just to prove he had no intention of hurting him.

***

It would have been like shocking a dog after saying, “come here, boy.” Is that what Jason thinks of him? Slade’s not _that_ cruel, he decides.

“Hey!” interrupted Jason. “We there yet, old man?” Shit, this kid was anxious.

“Go to sleep.” Slade stared at the kid for a moment and ruffled a hand through Jason’s hair. He didn’t flinch this time, but he didn’t smile either. Slade retracted his arm, and now both hands were gripping the steering wheel. 

“Pfft–sir, yes, sir,” Jason mocked, performing a two-finger salute before Slade saw him turn slightly to the side and close his eyes. Did the kid just follow his order? _Hm, interesting._

Slade didn’t know if the kid felt any sense of security with him. He noted, on occasion, when he put a hand on Jason’s head, the kid leaned into his palm. Other times, he had no issue telling Slade to either back up or fuck off. It was baffling at times. It’s not as if Slade had attempted to hug the boy.

Within fifteen minutes, Slade heard the kid’s heavy breaths fade into soft, steady ones, indicating that he was asleep. Glancing over at the resting boy, his eye focused on the snacks and drinks that Jason had carefully arranged between the center console and the floor beside his feet. 

Jason grew up with a Bat, a butler, and no formal military training, so it was easy for Slade to assume the kid was a slob. Most kids were. However, all the snack wrappers were neatly packed into a single bag, and there were no visible crumbs. Jason _had_ meticulously cleaned the last safe house. Slade wrote it off as boredom, but maybe the kid wanted to be of some use. Slade was doing _all_ the work. In time, Jason could prove his worth, but not while he was still injured. Although he’d like it if the boy said “thank you” more often. 

Slade didn’t think of himself as a mentor figure–of any kind–end of story. Yes, he had wanted an apprentice in the past, but truthfully, he had never considered this kid. Slade concluded that he was nothing more to Jason than a security measure and a ticket out of town, so there was no reason for Jason to prove his usefulness. Jason, however, offered to pay him back. Again, Slade recalled how Red Hood helped save his ass, how they’d worked as a team.

But they were not partners. Slade made it clear from the beginning that the kid would be working _under_ him–not _with_ him. It was simple. Slade made the rules; Jason’s job was to comply. The kid was now Slade’s responsibility, so he would be the one who controlled the kid’s actions. There was no doubt in Slade’s mind that Jason was his subordinate. 

If he and Jason were just normal people, then Slade might assume the kid simply had concern for him, that he just wanted to help, even in his limited capacity. But what had Slade done for anyone to be concerned for him? 

When Slade went down that route, he kept hitting roadblocks, moments he was not allowed to revisit. He had done more damage as a father than Wayne could ever do, but Slade had never claimed to be a good guy. He had taken the lives of countless people, innocents included. His code always came first. It was never negotiable, regardless of _who_ was on the line. When he saw the kid bleeding out on that rooftop, nearly beaten to death by his raging father, it gave Slade a choice. It gave Jason a choice, too. But why should Jason choose him? To live was evil spelled backwards, and Slade’s life was defined by a strict moral code that sacrificed others.

The people in Jason’s life had a moral code, but they didn’t even execute their enemies. Jason, too, was one of the good ones. He helped people–he _liked_ helping people and focused solely on hurting bad guys. The best thing he could do for Jason was to make sure the kid didn’t choose him.

Slade was giving himself a headache not even he could heal quickly enough. He gave up trying to determine the source of the kid’s need to drive. Slade had better uses for his enhanced brain, such as mapping out his job for his next client. 

However, it wasn’t too long before Slade impulsively glanced at the boy again, looking smaller in appearance than he was in size. He’d fallen asleep, this time, facing Slade with his arms curled loosely against his injured chest. The bruising around his eyes, where his nose had been fractured, was finally starting to heal. But everything that came out of the kid’s mouth still sounded like a tantrum.

It occurred to Slade that he could have easily slipped the boy a sedative, but now that he had the silence to think, it was possible he liked the kid’s quips and distractions. Slade had mastered many skills over the years–dwelling on his past wasn’t one of them. 

Jason shivered all of a sudden and Slade noticed his own blanket resting in a heap on the kid’s right hip. Slade could not ignore the sudden urge to spread the fabric and smooth it out so it would keep him from shaking in his sleep. The challenge was whether he could achieve this without waking and angering the raven. It was not an easy feat, given his height and what little space he had to work with. Slade held his breath while he unfolded the blanket with a flick of his wrist and covered Jason before giving him a light pat on the shoulder. He regretted this the moment he moved his hand away. The boy sighed with eyes shut tight, gripping an edge of the fabric and pulling it up to his neck.

“Thanks,” the kid whispered.

Slade focused on the road ahead of him, noticing for the first time he’d been driving under the speed limit. He and the boy had a long way to go before they’d reach their destination. Pressing harder on the gas, he wondered who Jason could be with Gotham behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Eventually, there will be future edits for previous chapters. You don't have to re-read them.


	23. These Wings Are Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to renewyorkairs, my amazing godsend of an editor and alpha reader
> 
> Please enjoy the longer than usual chapter!

It was inevitable that he and the boy would run out of food. 

All they had packed from the previous safe house and most of the snacks from the gas station were gone. The only bits remaining were a few broken chips sitting at the bottom of the bags with all the other crumbs. Jason threatened to vomit in the car if he had to eat just one more chip. Slade wasn’t going to mention the fact that the kid now smelled like salt, stress, and sweat, eerily similar to a hotdog from a late-night street cart. In turn, Slade rolled down his own window and tried to convince Jason to just throw it all away; he refused, however, whining about not wasting food. The kid claimed he was saving it for later, but Slade decided the kid was too lazy to clean up after himself.

“Food,” said Jason, pointing to a sign off the highway. 

Slade pulled his head forward and to the right where Jason was pointing. He glanced at the blue sign depicting logos of a gas station, a couple of fast-food chains, and what Slade presumed to be a local diner. “What about it?” he asked, staring back at the road, his shoulders tense from leaning in a car too short for his stature. 

“Take the next exit,” he directed as if he were Slade’s GPS. “Turn right.” 

“To do _what_ , kid?” Slade groaned at Jason’s tall order. He knew the boy had already made up his mind, but Slade was opposed to any detours that put his extraction plan in jeopardy.

“To eat, _duh_ ,” Jason replied. Of course, the kid had to be a smartass. “There’s a diner two miles away.” 

“No,” Slade decided, leaving no room for argument. “You ate a couple hours ago.” 

How was this kid remotely hungry? Not only had they packed food for the road, but Slade allowed Jason to buy forty dollars worth of snacks, which he chose not to share. If Jason were wiser, he would have rationed the food he’d eaten entirely out of boredom. He didn’t, and now he was facing the consequences.

“Yeah, that was five hours ago.”

Slade remained silent, pretending he hadn’t heard the kid with the windows down. He needed to stay resolute. They were already two-thirds of the way to the next safe house. And nothing bad had happened yet. 

“C’mon, old man. Loosen up. I need _actual_ food,” the kid begged, placing his palms together with his cast on full display. 

“You think this is some kind of road trip? You know exactly why we can’t be making stops,” Slade said, focusing on the road ahead. Pulling off the highway was an opportunity to be seen, and he would have no part in this. 

“Admit it. You’re hungry too.” And Jason sat there with his chin lifted like he’d won a debate, but he hadn’t, because asking for something and being denied tells a different story.

At that moment, Slade’s stomach defied him with a low grumble as he caught Jason smirking out of the corner of his eye. He hated to admit this, but the kid was right. Slade was hungry. 

“You barely ate anything... and I’m craving biscuits and gravy,” the kid offered as if this were somehow an equal exchange. 

Slade was convinced–convinced that Jason had eaten all of their food and intentionally hadn’t shared, knowing he’d have better odds at getting Slade to acquiesce on an empty stomach.

But Slade had no intention of giving into the kid’s sudden whim, that is until he made a sharp turn onto the exit ramp. “Wear a cap. In the glove box.”

“Really?” he asked for confirmation. The younger’s eyes were shining in anticipation like Slade was taking him to Disney World or wherever it was where kids pinned their dreams. 

“Don’t make me regret this, Jason.” 

“M’kay,” he said with the flash of a grin while opening the glove box and slipping on a plain, black baseball cap. “I won’t, old man. I promise.” 

Slade reached his hand out towards Jason. “Good. Now, pass me the other cap.”

The kid obeyed, swiping the other black cap and placing it into his outstretched palm.

“Besides,” said Jason, “what could go wrong at a diner?” 

***

Detecting zero cameras, Slade parked the car in a small lot between two other vehicles in a row. Further down the dirt road was fast food and a gas station, the closest buildings in proximity. They were surrounded by farmland, the kind with rolling hills casually lined with split-rail fences. A few tall loblolly pines and a scattering of red maples added contrast to the simple white diner that sat alone. The trees provided ample shade on this crisp fall afternoon, as Slade parked the black sedan. On top of the building was a marquee where “DINER” was lit up in bright red neon, and a less than pristine image of a knight on a horse stood in its shadow.

Slade took a minute to scroll through this phone, so the kid was the first to get out of the car. He was so impatient that he walked over to the driver’s side, waiting for him to step out. Jason’s face told Slade he was going to race him into the diner if he didn’t hurry up. However, the way the kid held himself, stiff-limbed, and leaning a hand against the car for leverage relieved him from having to chase the boy inside. Slade hauled his cramped body out of the midsize sedan, forgetting to dip his head low.

_Bang._

Jesus, Slade hit his head on the frame of the car. 

“Pffft!” The kid immediately doubled over, hissing. “Holy fuck!” he wheezed. “Did the big, bad assassin–just–hit his head–getting–out of... a... _car_?” He was gulping for air between words like a kid having an asthma attack. “Ah–heh–heh!” If Slade didn’t know any better, he would have thought the kid was choking. 

Slade slammed the door behind him, feeling ticked off from the throbbing in his temple, as the kid’s insulting gasps reverberated in the air. The door flew shut with so much force the car shook, teetering on its wheels. 

“I–wish–I–could–watch–that–again!” The kid was trying to contain another bout of giggles as his hands grazed his injured ribs in pain. Despite this, he managed to stand there looking utterly satisfied with his teeth clenched into a smile. 

Slade found it challenging not to perceive Jason’s soft, nasally snickering as a threat. If he could, he’d shove those laughs down the kid’s throat until he really threw a fit. 

“Move it, now.” Slade gripped Jason’s shoulders and shoved him towards the diner, the kid only stumbling an inch or two. He made sure Jason knew he was walking a fine line, placing a firm hand on his back as a form of intimidation. But the kid didn’t take the hint and continued mocking Slade’s incident quietly to himself. Another giggle managed to escape as he felt the boy shaking with suppressed laughter. 

Inside, the diner was sheathed in a warm light, featuring curved corners, aluminum detailing, and white formica tables surrounded by red vinyl booths of varying sizes. The floor was tiled in black and white and a long bar the length of the diner housed a row of red stools. Turquoise pinstripes lined the molding while accenting the ceiling and wrapping around the bar. The smell of waffles wafted while the charred notes of bacon and fried eggs hung heavy in the air. Jason would fit right in. 

Slade scanned the dining area for cameras. They’d just missed the lunch rush, so only two out ten booths lining the front windows were taken by locals, many wearing plaid and blue denim. Jason, seeing a “Please Seat Yourself” sign, opted for a middle booth on the right side of the entrance, distancing them from customers on the left. Additionally, it gave the raven a front-row view of the diner’s daily pie selection enclosed in a glass case. 

The kid, in slow motion, slid into the four-person booth and gently exhaled as he stretched out his legs. Slade followed his lead, taking the seat across and diagonal from him. He rubbed his forehead for a moment and observed Jason, who was still grinning while shaking his head. Eying Slade, he plucked a red menu from a metal holder and opened it in front of his face. When he lowered the laminated trifold menu, the ridicule on his face had vanished, replaced with a softer expression. Slade stared at the boy for a second, noting how quickly the kid got comfortable with his elbows leaning against the table before grabbing his own menu.

Jason, in the midst of making himself at home, took off the cap that he had roped the boy into wearing as part of their deal. Slade’s eye was now twitching in irritation. His first thought was to hold the brat down and glue the hat on top of his head but changed his mind when he saw a waitress approaching in the reflection of a metal-rimmed table. Slade couldn’t risk intimidating the kid in front of civilians and drawing unwanted attention. However, at this point, Jason flaunting his Batman bruises would get them caught first. 

“Welcome to Knight’s,” said a young redhead in a turquoise uniform and white apron. She was around Jason’s age. “I’ll be your server.” She stood in front of the table with a notepad, a pen, and a warm smile. 

“Is it true you serve breakfast all day?” Jason asked in a hushed voice, looking up and returning her smile.

“All day, every day,” she said brightly without a hint of sarcasm. “So, what can I get you two?” She made contact with the kid’s eyes while reading his face, littered with red and purple bruises. Jason averted and buried his face inside the menu.

“I’ll take a coffee,” Slade answered while eyeing Jason. “Make that two.” The waitress turned toward Jason, who nodded behind his menu in agreement.

“I’d like the country-fried steak,” said Slade, “eggs sunny-side-up with rye toast and grits, and a western omelet with home fries, an order of links, and a side of pancakes.” He placed the menu back into its holder. Staring at the kid, he waited for him to order, but Jason was too busy deliberating, giving every house specialty a fair chance.

“Will that be all?” The waitress asked, lifting her pencil from the notepad.

“Wait, Miss,” said Jason, “I haven’t ordered.” She raised one brow in surprise, thinking Slade had ordered for the two of them. The kid was scrutinizing over the menu, stressed. “Okay–um–I’ll have your biscuits and gravy with a side of bacon... and eggs over easy.” Jason was speed-reading the menu, looking as if he wanted to order more. 

“You sure that’s gonna be enough food for the two of you?” She teased with a warmth in her voice.

“It’s been a long drive,” noted Slade with a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh–and a fruit cup with yogurt!” the kid added. “Please.” 

“Sure thing, hun.” The waitress lowered her notepad and smiled, still glancing at the kid’s face. “Alright, I’ll be back with your coffees.” 

“Thanks,” said Jason to the waitress. With his elbow on the table and his chin resting in his hand, the kid smiled back before she turned away, walking down the aisle and venturing behind the bar. 

“Boy, put that cap back on,” ordered Slade, drawing his voice low and emphasizing each word. 

Jason shrugged as another smirk surfaced on his face. “S’not sunny in here.” 

Slade grabbed the hat he’d abandoned and slapped it onto the boy’s head, not caring about the neatness.

“C’mon, old-timer,” he whined, fixing his hair, so it was out of his eyes while repositioning the hat. “We both checked. There’s no cameras in here.”

“She was staring at your bruises.” Even though the kid’s face was healing, his black eyes and the bruising on his cheeks looked worse than they actually were. It was an opportunity for people to ask questions–or worse, make assumptions. 

“So? It’s not the first time I’ve had a meal out after getting beat to shit.”

 _So_ , they weren’t in Gotham anymore. Someone could easily conclude that Slade had inflicted these injuries, given the fact he was significantly larger than the boy. 

“Y–” Slade started but stopped when he realized that the waitress was near.

“Here you go, gentlemen.” She placed two mugs, filled with black coffee, on the table. “Either of you need any cream?”

“No,” Slade answered.

Jason grinned, stealing a glance at her name tag. “Thank you, Shelly.” Slade was not expecting the kid to exhibit a warmth around people he didn’t know. Strangers might mistake the kid for being charming, but Slade knew better. The kid was simply mirroring the Southern hospitality that was directed at him. 

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” the waitress replied, again smiling at Jason before leaving.

“So, you do have manners,” said Slade. 

“Don’t worry about it, old man.” Jason’s tone was the opposite of reassuring. 

“Just keep the damn cap on.” And Slade watched the brat roll his eyes in response. 

***

Within twenty minutes, their food arrived at the table. The waitress, carrying a glass carafe with an orange handle, refilled their coffees. Jason got to work, devouring everything but the dish as if he hadn’t been eating all day, and Slade just stared, questioning whether the kid was actually chewing. Preferring not to choke on his meal, Slade opted to savor his steak instead of scarfing it down like an animal. 

Looking out the window, Slade observed a group of young, twenty-something locals standing outside the diner. These were your run-of-the-mill farm boys, bearded and broad, but instead of plaid, they were wearing camo. Being out in the country, they were more than likely to open-carry. 

Jason’s fork reached over to Slade’s plate, nabbing a significant piece of his pancakes. He sat there chewing with his eyes closed, smiling to himself. A number of threats crossed Slade’s mind, but today he let it slide, pretending as if nothing happened. Here, at this diner, was the happiest Slade had seen the kid since... it wasn’t until Jason poured maple syrup onto Slade’s pancakes that he decided to intervene. 

“Hands off, brat.” Slade hadn’t eaten all day, he didn’t care for maple syrup, and he was growing more defensive by the second.

“Don’t worry, I’m using a fork,” Jason countered, diving in. Wielding his serrated knife, Slade blocked the fast approaching fork with ease.

“Just eat your damn fruit cup.” The kid hadn’t even touched it yet. 

The waitress returned. “How’s everything treating you so far?” She filled up Jason’s coffee first.

“It’s so good,” the kid replied, beaming like this was his first home-cooked meal in months instead of his third meal before 3 pm. 

“You really were hungry,” she said, clearing Jason’s plate while peeking out the window. “Enjoy the rest of your meal!” The waitress walked away with the empty plate but not before Jason retrieved his fork. However, she forgot to refill Slade’s coffee. 

The same group from outside walked in, and a small bell attached to the door’s handle jingled as it was pushed open. These boys were talking loudly to each other as if they owned the place. Jason didn’t blink twice, but Slade noticed the other waitress moving back into the kitchen. They looked harmless enough, unlike the kid who was making quick work of his meal. By then, Jason had stolen two more bites of Slade’s pancakes.

Jason’s silence meant trouble, and without skipping a beat, the kid’s fork deviated, heading straight for Slade’s steak, which he favored more than the pancakes and eggs.

Slade tore the fork from the kid’s grip. “No.” 

“Just one bite of steak,” the kid begged. Jason still had food but decided he would rather eat Slade’s food first. He wondered if Wayne had ever finished his own meal without the kid stealing at least half. But he knew better than to ask. 

Slade stared back, drawing his lid into a glare to indicate one final _no_. 

“Fuck,” Jason whispered under his breath. “...Please.” Somehow, the kid’s request sounded more like a demand, as he returned Slade’s glare, folding his arms against his chest. He was waiting for Slade to answer. 

_Please, huh?_

If the boy _really_ wanted a bite of his steak, then Slade could use this to his advantage. A little torment wasn’t going to shred the kid’s ego. 

“Sure,” Slade smiled, pointing Jason’s fork at him. “Under one condition–” 

“Deal,” the boy blurted while snatching his fork back, his eyes focused solely on the prize. 

“You sure?” he asked, giving the younger a chance to back out. 

Jason pressed his lips together before his face lit up. “Two bites and we have a deal.”

“Alright, kid, if you say so.” The outcome was more valuable than two bites of steak.

Jason’s fingers tapped on the table as he stared down at Slade’s plate. “What’s the condition?” 

“I’ll cut the amount for you–” Slade began but was interrupted by the boy. 

“And?” The kid’s hands landed with a thud on the laminated tabletop, while the metal bracelet attached to his wrist clinked.

“ _And_ I’ll feed it to you.” 

Slade was grinning involuntarily like a fox with easy prey caught between its teeth. It was, without a doubt, a measure of control. Slade already knew he wasn’t a great guy, and he couldn’t resist taunting someone so obstinate. Jason revealed his cards too quickly, and Slade loved nothing more than teaching someone a lesson. Considering how much the kid had annoyed Slade during the drive, payback was the most rewarding option, even if it was also the pettiest.

“Wait. What–” Jason stammered, his eyes widening at the power dynamic unfolding before him. “What _the fuck_ do you think I am? I’m not a child, you dumbass.” 

“You want it or not?” Slade chuckled.

“Fuck you,” snapped Jason, lowering his voice. “You are _not_ feeding me, you selfish prick.” The kid looked like he wanted to flip the table into Slade’s face. Too bad it was bolted into the ground. 

“I was going to give you a big cut, too,” Slade offered, waving his fork with a slice of steak in front of the kid. Jason’s eyes followed the steak’s movement as if hypnotized. This was far too easy. But what Slade hadn’t anticipated was how much pleasure he could derive by letting Jason choose whether or not to yield to him. 

Jason sat there with a creased brow, his eyes flickering from the steak to Slade, conflicted. “You– _shit_ –” the kid sputtered out. 

“Hm?” Slade made sure to tilt his fork with the cut of steak towards Jason. He was staring back at him with such a calculating glare Slade was sure the kid was murdering him six ways from Sunday. 

“Fucking fine!” The kid finally gave in, covering his eyes with the back of his hands and slumping dramatically in his seat.

Slade smiled victoriously while the kid was still staring daggers. “Good choice.” Swirling the fork, he inched it closer to the kid. Jason cringed, wrinkling his nose in objection with his jaw drawn shut. 

“Open up for the airplane,” Slade teased. The boy groaned at Slade’s remark and readjusted his baseball cap. Disgust was written all over his face, but after a quiet grumble, he opened his mouth. “Wider, kid.” Slade piloted the steak slice toward Jason’s piercing glare. The kid attacked the cut of meat using his teeth with his lips pulled back in a snarl to avoid touching Slade’s fork.

“You’re such an asshole,” Jason said, chewing with his mouth full. Soon, the kid’s face relaxed, as he sat there enjoying the crunchy fried batter encasing a cut of well-seasoned steak. 

“So I've been told.” As Slade’s knife sliced through the meat, he noticed the group from earlier making their way through the aisle, settling down in a corner booth furthest to the left.

“Okay, give me the next bite with more gravy,” the kid demanded, focused on Slade’s plate.

Slade rolled the slice in a pool of thick country gravy and fed the angry raven. “Good boy,” he continued to tease, giving him a single pat on the head.

“God fucking dammit, Slade,” said Jason as vicious as he could muster while also blushing. Grabbing a dessert menu from the end of the table, he shielded his face from view.

And Slade’s plan worked. It only took one rule and two bites of steak to train Jason to _not_ steal his food. Slade could finally enjoy his meal. Unfortunately, now he had to buy the kid dessert. 

As Slade removed his hand from the top of the kid’s head, he saw one of the farm boys who’d entered earlier walking into his periphery. 

“Check out this pair, y’all.” A bearded boy, wearing a dumb grin on top of a camo vest and matching pants, gestured to his buddies to come closer. His name was Wyatt, and he was staring at Jason. Slade memorized their names before these three had entered the diner. 

The kid was a brat but these boys were idiots. Slade noticed the way Jason’s shoulders tightened as they honed in on him. With the redness still lingering on his face, Jason readjusted his cap. Slade had just shamed the kid into not eating his food and wasn’t looking for anyone else to pile on. 

Idiot two’s name was Jack; he was dressed similar to Wyatt, wearing a camo jacket and cargo denim pants. “He get abducted or somethin’?” He jeered, pointing at Jason’s bruises. “He looks like shit.” The kid flashed a worried glance at Slade while gripping the visor of his baseball cap.

A third named Carter joined in with a chuckle. He was sporting a t-shirt, blue jeans, and a camo jacket tied around his waist; he had a mustache instead of a beard. “Looks homeless. Maybe the old guy is takin’ him out for lunch or somethin’.” 

Jason’s eyes widened before Slade, as he shifted in his seat while peering at the table. The kid could clean the floor with these assholes if he weren’t so... _out of shape_. Jason was breathing deeper through his nose. Slade could also detect subtle vibrations of his leg shaking under the table, which he was having a tough time controlling.

“A pity date,” suggested Jack, eyeing Jason and sizing him up. 

Slade watched as the kid placed his hands around his neck so that his elbows covered his face. The arm Jason raised in front of these morons was the one with the cast on it, which only drew more attention. But the move was intentional, a sign that he was backing off. The kid continued to sit there, hunching over and using every muscle to appear smaller, but Slade could tell he was agitated beneath the surface.

This time, Wyatt spoke. “In return for what?” The whole group laughed with the confidence of bullies who had never been challenged.

On the surface, the kid looked anxious, gazing toward the group at unfixed points. But Slade knew Jason well enough to know that he was biding his time and weighing all the variables. 

Jack opened his mouth again. “An escort, you think?” 

Slade couldn’t lie; he was curious to see what Red Hood looked like without the helmet. Slade and Deathstroke were one and the same, but the bats consistently made up new and ridiculous personas that they were always hiding behind. 

“A poor one,” noted Carter. They laughed in a congratulatory way, and Jason eyed Slade for a moment with his head lowered. 

The fear initially appearing on Jason’s face had been replaced by a quiet rage. Obviously, these punk ass kids were just saying their piece to get a rise out of an easy target. From experience, Slade knew that taunting this kid took very little effort, but it didn't mean you could show up unprepared. There were two types of people in their line of work. On the one hand, you had people who proceeded with caution. Take Slade, for instance, who was watching Jason cataloging and assessing his opponents. On the other were all the idiots who underestimated him, and that hand was bleeding on the ground. 

“Kid,” warned Slade in a lower voice, demanding obedience. They had a deal. Despite this, the kid was gripping his mug like he was planning to launch his coffee into one of their faces while eyeing Slade’s steak knife. Jason was exhibiting a certain sign, something Slade knew too well. The kid wanted to kill, but he wasn’t in position, and Slade had no intention of being his spotter.

Slade caught a glimpse of Red Hood as the kid sat there motionless. With his eyes narrowed and his lip curled halfway into a displeased smile, he let go of his mug in lieu of a menu.

Wyatt leered at Jason. “Could they be more gay?” 

“You got a problem with it?” Jason bit back at the group, his voice unwavering. The kid’s fists were clenching the menu so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Slade was certain Jason was using the dessert menu as a makeshift mask. 

Slade needed to end this before either of them did something they would regret. He stood up from the table, using his full height as leverage to intimidate them. The group, seeing Slade tower over them, snickered a few more times before heading back down the aisle. 

“You okay?” Slade asked, returning to his seat while eyeing the group. 

“What the fuck was that?” Jason asked with a sneer, dropping the menu onto the table. Turns out the infamous Red Hood was just a nervous kid under all those masks, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

“Out with it. What’s bothering you?” 

“They just–Jesus, you look like you’re old enough to be my grandfather,” the kid replied.

“And that’s what you found offensive,” said Slade without any hesitation.

“These aren't even _my_ clothes. They're yours,” the kid remarked as if the worst possible insult was being deemed the town slob. 

Between the oversized clothing and decreased muscle mass, Jason appeared younger when he was angry. At a deeper glance, Slade couldn’t understand why the kid who was talking his ear off in the car was suddenly deflecting his questions. It was obvious that several of those remarks wounded him in some way, but Slade had no intention of prying the answer out of Jason if he didn’t want to talk about it. 

Slade wondered why the kid didn’t fabricate a motorcycle accident to ease the stares they’d both been receiving upon entering. _Maybe_ it was a lie that Jason could never believe, and if that were the case, why should the kid defend his bruises to strangers? 

"You could have stepped in sooner," said the kid.

***

Pulling his wallet out, Slade walked past the pie case further down the aisle to settle the tab. At the register, he met with Shelly, the waitress who had served them. 

Slade handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill. She apologized for not refilling his coffee earlier. Feeling indifferent toward small talk, he said it was no problem. As the waitress retrieved his change from the till his phone vibrated. Only one person knew this burner’s number.

Slade instructed Shelly to keep the change. Her eyes widened at the generosity, but more than that, it prevented the kid from scolding him for being cheap when it counted the way... He fished out his phone, buzzing for a second time. Switching the screen on, he noticed he had one bar of service available. To get decent reception, he’d have to take the call outside. Plus, he didn’t want the kid listening in. 

Before making his exit, Slade scanned the diner one last time. The three idiots who bothered the kid were huddled around the left side of the bar. He gestured to Jason that he was going to take this call as he walked past their table toward the front door. The kid, however, was lost in his dessert menu. Slade didn’t have time to consider why Jason looked unfocused while Wyatt and his buddies were walking past their table toward Shelly, who was still standing next to the till. 

Slade stormed through the exit. His client did not like waiting. On the fourth ring, he looked back at Jason; he was now staring at these idiots, who were standing very close to their waitress. Again, Slade saw daggers in the kid’s eyes, glinting against the afternoon light. 

The phone buzzed in his hand for the fifth and final ring; Slade kept walking without glancing back as he accepted the call.

“Luthor, Deathstroke speaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow that was a real long chapter, wasn’t it? Normally my chapters are only 1600 words but this one is about 4000! Consider it a treat lol  
> It also seems like the next chapter will be a treat too with how long it’s turning out hahaha  
> Thanks for reading!


	24. Mors Certissima Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to renewyorkairs, my AMAZING editor/alpha reader. 
> 
> TW// Homophobia: homophopic slurs (not by main characters), implied prostitution and pedophilia.

He trained for years to be a force beyond reckoning. He learned to kill in ways that could churn an empty stomach. And now Jason was being schoolyard-bullied by a few bored farmers.

Fuckers. All of them. Slade included. 

When you’re badly injured and the only one unarmed, you can’t start running up and down the aisles in your pajamas announcing you’re the goddamn Red Hood, vigilante, and occasional crime lord when nobody has heard of you outside of New Jersey. Jason would probably get locked up for pulling a stunt like that.

In fifteen seconds, Jason planned to aim his coffee at the dumb mustache using his left arm in one smooth, straight motion, gut the bearded fuck using Slade’s steak knife and jab his own butter knife into the lung of the asshole who called him homeless. He’d also considered taking out an eye with Slade’s fork, but since Slade was right there Jason second-guessed himself. None of these were kill shots, mind you. If breaking a couple rules put him under house arrest, he wasn’t sure what a fight would cost him. It was tempting, he had to admit. But it’s harder to hide _regret_ when bodies can crawl away from the scene. 

Slade should have stepped in sooner.

Because Jason didn’t draw a single fist. Shocking? Sure, but Slade was sitting directly across from him. Yeah, don’t forget the infamous assassin who could eliminate all three with a simple flick of a blade if they so much as looked at him wrong. 

Even after Jason had pretty much rolled over, broadcasting his broken arm, for instance, Slade missed the hint entirely. He just sat there staring at Jason like he would be the one to do something senseless and wrong while these fuckheads continued to throw insults that landed with a precision he found disarming. 

It was amazing Slade didn’t jump out of his seat and start jeering along with them, adding his own personal list of humiliations, like Jason’s fucking nightmares or the fact that he’s Bruce’s favorite punching bag, et cetera, et fucking cetera. 

Slade stood up from their table and walked down the aisle on the right side of the diner toward the register without saying a word. He wondered how much Slade knew about his origin story. Is that why he keeps offering to pay for Jason’s food? He sighed. It’s not as if he could ask Slade without shoveling up his own past. This was going to drive Jason mad from here on out. 

A small part of him wondered what Bruce would have done before everything turned to shit. 

***

When Jason was younger, Bruce, on a rare occasion, would take him out for a meal. Jason loved those bright retro diners where you could order coffee and a slice of pie at any hour of the day. There was something about the play between bitter and sweet notes that tasted like a song on the tip of his tongue. For all the things Bruce _did_ judge him for, his taste in food didn’t rank very high on the list.

It always surprised Jason when strangers were bold enough to share their opinions _out loud_ to Bruce _fucking_ Wayne. Jason had ears; he overheard two grown-ups he didn’t know saying stuff he didn’t want to hear. 

“See, told ya he got himself another boy, just as young as the previous one.”

Which wasn’t even true. Dick was nine-years-old, and Jason was just small for his age. 

These adults weren’t talking about adoption and even if they were, it wasn’t anyone’s fucking business. 

Jason wasn’t dumb. He understood the rumors they were trying to tease out. Because it was impossible for anyone to believe that someone like Bruce could ever want someone like Jason for a son. From circus orphan to homeless kid, Wayne collected the ones that nobody would miss.

“I hear the playboy’s got a taste for somethin’ younger.”

Jason was the reason the media was calling Bruce a lot of horrible names. Bruce was being targeted because of him. He felt so bad, he couldn’t sleep at night, because Jason was to blame for pulling Bruce’s name through the dirt. 

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” yelled Jason. “Bruce is the best person I ever met, and you sure as shit ain’t gonna ruin that for me.” Jason stood up from his seat and climbed onto the chair.

“Jason,” said Bruce, his voice firm, but not like Jason was in trouble or anything.

“What?” Jason answered, glaring at the adults who’d spoken up. He shot two middle fingers in the couple’s direction while Bruce gestured for him to sit back down. 

Bruce got up and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for protecting me.” Bruce was smiling at Jason. Like he actually meant it. 

“My advice,” said the woman, interrupting Bruce. “Get a refund if it’s not too late. Sounds like you got a bad seed.” 

“A real _good_ investment you picked, Mr. Wayne,” her partner added. “Thought you rich people knew better.”

“I didn’t mean–Bruce, I’m sorry,” Jason blurted. He heard the couple laughing but Jason shut his eyes tight to make them disappear. 

People couldn’t throw away kids if they changed their _mind_ , could they? Jason wasn’t sure. He’d seen what happened to pets that people no longer wanted, the strays dumped in darkened alleys, and the fear that clung to their fur like snow during a storm when they realized their owners were never coming back. 

It could happen to him. Bruce could change his mind. Adults changed their minds all the time.

“ _Thank you_ for your concern,” Bruce replied with a curt smile, “However, I prefer to even the odds myself.” Still standing, Bruce placed himself between the couple and Jason, shielding him from view. 

“I–I’ll be good, I swear,” Jason said, knowing it was a lie. 

Clearly, Bruce was upset. It sounded like Bruce wanted to take care of things on his own. Whatever that meant. Jason knew if two people were at odds, it meant they were unhappy. And Jason didn’t want Bruce to be unhappy. When they got home, Jason would start packing his things. Give Alfred a hug. In case Bruce changed his mind.

Since Bruce didn’t say anything, Jason started again. “Is it okay if I finish my food?” Jason didn’t want to leave feeling hungry.

“Of course,” said Bruce in a tone so soft Jason hardly recognized him. 

Jason sat there rubbing his eyes–not crying in front of Bruce. Jason was almost thirteen-years-old. In a year, he'd be able to get a job. He could take care of things on his own, too. He’d just hoped Bruce might let him stay a little bit longer. 

“Jason,” said Bruce, “you’re my son, and I am always going to protect you.”

***

Yeah, certain things were better left buried six-feet deep.

The last thing Jason needed was Slade looking at him differently, especially now. Even if the mercenary knew how to hide his judgment, Jason didn’t want _even_ a whiff of anyone’s pity.

Jason blinked and realized he was still holding the dessert menu. He knew he shouldn’t have reacted. Jason went from feared antihero to a kid in sweatpants in just under three weeks. They weren’t crossing the old man, just Jason. It was only a few dickheads, and it was fucking embarrassing he couldn’t do shit to shut them up. No one was ever going to heckle Slade, especially if Jason was always standing next to him. It made him feel like a sidekick again. A target. _Bait_. Jason fucking hated it. He didn’t want to be anybody’s weakness. Not anymore. 

On the left side of the diner, Jason eyed those goons from earlier. All three were carrying. One was holstered on the hip of the dumb mustache named Carter. The bearded asshole, Wyatt, made no intention to hide his gun through his vest, but the forgettable fuck at least had the decency to conceal his in the diner. It was rare for Jason to be out in broad daylight and even rarer to be without his own gear. Maybe these narrow-minded hicks hadn’t earned a death sentence, but it didn’t mean they deserved to walk out of the diner either. 

Or maybe Jason was just in a bad mood.

Slade didn’t leave Jason with any instructions, such as _stay_ ; he just motioned that he was going to step outside and take the call. Jason noticed he was carrying a different phone in his hand as Slade walked out the door. 

***

“Hey, sweetie.” 

Jason recognized that voice. 

Those same three shitheads had their eyes on Shelly, his server from earlier. She was the only friendly person inside this diner. Jason lifted his chin toward the ceiling and sighed from his seat. 

Shelly was walking down the aisle from the register toward Jason’s booth, turning the corner to access the left side of the dining area. From the curved corner of the bar, Wyatt stepped in front of Shelly, while the other two barnacles remained glued to his right side. It gave Jason a front-row view of what was certain to be an ugly disaster. 

“Wyatt, would you like to order something?” Shelly asked with a forced smile. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, her hazel eyes darting around the tables, looking for any reason to leave. It was a drastic shift from the kind ease she displayed while helping Jason navigate his meal. 

Instead of ordering, the asshole reached his arm out to touch the back of Shelly’s hand with his fingers while she was clutching her notepad. Jason grimaced, feeling his fingernails digging into his palms.

Shelly retracted her hand with a frown, taking a step back. “You need something, Wyatt? I’m busy.”

“Hmm.” Wyatt placed a thumb on the edge of his beard, pretending to be in thought. “How about you walk over to the bar and bring us back three stouts.”

“Anything else?” She asked. It wasn’t even 3 pm on a weekday. Jason could tell she was judging them. 

Wyatt, who stood at least six inches taller than Shelly, was leaning in a way that blocked her from entering the dining area through the aisle that separated the bar and booths. “How about your number and what time you get off work?” 

Again, Shelly backed away, somehow balancing between polite and exasperated. “I told you, Wyatt. I have a boyfriend.”

“Is he here?” he persisted, looking around the room. Like an idiot.

“No, he’s not,” Shelly replied.

“Then why don’t you sit with us?” suggested Wyatt, who couldn’t take a goddamn hint. 

“No, thanks,” Shelly tried, crinkling her nose. “I’m working.” 

Wow, this was painful even by proxy. Jason really wanted to take out the trash, for lack of a better term, but he promised Slade he’d sit this one out. 

“How about you give me your number?” Wyatt pursed his lips. “You know, just in case?” Holy shit, this guy really couldn’t take “no” for an answer. 

“Sorry, I'm not interested,” Shelly repeated, inching back toward the bar window where she could escape either behind the bar or into the kitchen.

Wyatt grabbed her by the forearm to stop her. “You’ll come around, little girl.” And then he winked. Shelly’s entire body cringed like a small part of her died. _Jesus fuck_.

“ _Great_ , be back with your beers,” she blurted out, jerking her arm away and storming off toward the safety of a closed kitchen.

The assholes snickered among themselves, discussing Wyatt’s plan to take Shelly home that same evening. Jason couldn’t hear everything, but a major theme was that the hot, dumb waitress had no idea what she was missing. The forgettable fuck, or Jack, at least had the balls to say she really didn’t seem interested, given the fact that Wyatt tried a number of times without success. Carter, his dumb mustache wiggling like the worm he is, suggested cornering the waitress while she was alone, so Wyatt could change her mind. All three jackals laughed while Jason distracted himself by locating where the cutlery was stored around the bar. 

Within minutes, Shelly exited the kitchen from the left side of the diner. From the bar, she gathered a full tray of drinks in an open palm, balanced on her forearm. Shelly was glancing around the dining room for exits and openings to purposely avoid these three shitsticks. It was clear she had gone through the kitchen to the other side of the bar just to avoid them in the dining area. 

Wyatt, who had been spying on her– _like a creep_ –was already walking past the pie case across from Jason’s booth until he was standing painfully close to her. With Wyatt towering above her, Shelly flinched as the tray in her hand trembled. 

“Have you thought about it?” Wyatt probed. “It can be our little secret.” What the fuck was wrong with this idiot? 

“Please move. I'm tryin’ to do my job,” she reminded him while balancing the tray in her hand. 

“Y’know,” he began without listening to a word she said, “you’d make better tips if you smiled more.” The fucker took a step forward. “I'm picturin’ you in a different outfit, too.” Jason could disarm Wyatt if he were closer. But his two sidekicks were also armed, and he didn’t want to start a fight inside the diner. 

“Out of my way, Wyatt. I have customers waiting,” Shelly asserted, firmer than before. 

Instead, Wyatt leaned closer and grazed her waist with his hand, letting it linger. “Gimme your number first.”

Shelly jumped at the unwanted touch. “I already said I have a boyfriend. Now, I’m saying this for the final time–”

“Women, always playin’ hard to get,” said Wyatt, interrupting her. “Shelly, it’s okay to admit you want me.” He stretched out his hand towards her wavy red hair. “Why don’t you let me drive you home tonight?” 

Jason moved to the edge of his seat. Great. Just your average megalomaniac. 

“Jesus, just leave me alone. I’m workin’,” She repeated. 

Shelly pulled back, holding the tray closer to her body as a means of protection.

“You don’t need to be coy and shit. Just give me your damn number,” Wyatt demanded, his patience dissolving with each rejection.

Oh, fucking hell. Jason couldn’t stand watching this any longer. He stood up and placed himself between Wyatt and Shelly, giving her the space to leave, which she promptly did. “Back off. Shelly’s not interested,” Jason said. “She told you ‘no’ a number of times.” 

“You’re wrong,” Wyatt declared with the sort of disillusioned pride that comes with a lifetime of being praised for mediocrity. “Women love me.” And just like that, his buddies laughed in agreement.

Jason laughed, too, with no trace of humor. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason was tempted to ask Wyatt if he’d looked in a mirror but knew better than to let that insult bite him in the ass. “Be a man and accept the fact that she flat out rejected you. So, why don’t you humbly get the fuck out without causing a scene.” 

“You little–” Wyatt began. Yeah, he and Wyatt were the same height, and Jason wasn’t wearing combat boots. 

“Okay, Wyatt, I can see you’re confused. If Shelly were interested–which she isn’t–she’d give you her number, and you wouldn’t have to force it out of her,” Jason explained. He noticed the other server snickering behind the bar while talking to Shelly. 

At that point, other diners took notice of the situation, and all eyes were on Wyatt, who was so mad he was sucking in air. It had the negative effect of making his mouth look like a cat butt. His shoulders slumped as he skulked back to his booth, where his two lackeys were waiting with beers in hand. Shelly had already dropped off their drinks while he and Wyatt had their little chat. Jason looked toward the bar and guessed that Shelly and her coworker retreated to the kitchen. Good. 

***

“Hey, you wanna take a seat while I enter my tips?” Shelly asked Jason, pointing to a barstool next to the till. Jason got up just to sit back down again, this time on a red vinyl stool. “I just wanted to say thanks….” 

“Jason,” he answered. 

“Thanks for standing up for me, Jason. Hardly anyone ever does that.”

“Wyatt’s an asshole. I hope he doesn’t bother you anymore.” 

“Me too,” said Shelly. “You’re new in town. You visiting?”

“We’re on a road trip,” Jason decided. 

“Oh, you and your dad?”

“Yeah,” Jason lied. 

“I gotta admit, he’s one scary lookin’ guy.” 

“You have no idea,” said Jason, sounding more serious than he’d intended. 

“Um,” began Shelly, “I couldn’t help but notice those bruises.” 

“Pretty dramatic, huh. It wasn’t _him._ But you really shoulda seen the other guy.”

“Oh yeah? He end up worse than you?” Shelly laughed with the kind of warmth you reserve for those closest to you. Jason could feel Wyatt glaring holes into the side of his head. In turn, Jason gave him a slow nod while lifting the corner of his lip into a smug ass smile. 

“You’d be surprised, Shelly.” Jason laughed, sounding genuine and less bitter than usual.

“Well, I’m glad you stopped in today. Also, your dad tips really well. Kinda makes up for everything else that happened.” 

“My _dad_? He does?” Jason left it at that. This trip could not get any weirder. 

“Well, hun, I need to get back to work. Anyways, thanks again, Jason,” said Shelly with another sincerely sweet smile that truly baffled him considering what had just transpired. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good guy, you know.” 

“I’m not,” Jason admitted. 

Because Bruce doesn’t beat the shit out of good guys.

Shelly frowned at him, looking somewhat hurt. “I meant what I said.”

“Thanks, Shelly,” said Jason as he stood up from the stool. He rubbed his left cheek until he felt the dull throb from a deeper bruise.

Jason glanced out the front windows and couldn’t see Slade from where he was sitting. Since he wasn’t allowed to smoke in the car and hadn’t had one all day, now seemed like the perfect time for a cigarette break.

Jason smiled at Shelly before walking further down the aisle into a hallway. On the left was an exit, leading to the backlot of the diner. Jason would be back before Slade even noticed.

***

Today was a good day. Jason got a taste of freedom with Slade giving into his diner request. Shelly actually believed Jason, of all people, was a good guy just because he was a dick to Wyatt. And now, he was standing outside with the sun shining upon him, staring at an open grass-lined field about to have his first smoke of the day.

Jason leaned against the back door wall, fetching his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Using his palm, he tapped out a single smoke and withdrew the metal lighter he’d collected. A souvenir from Slade’s safe house. Jason smiled as he lit the cigarette, cupping his hands around the delicate flame.

Lo and behold, the three shitfucks who harassed Shelly opened the back door to his left. They were walking toward Jason, who recently played the part of helpless kid in the diner. And they still wanted to fight him? Jesus, how pathetic. Jason took a long drag as if he hadn’t noticed the group approaching him. He’d just lit up, so Jason was going to enjoy his smoke break for as long as possible.

“Look who it is, y’all,” said Wyatt, sneering just three feet from Jason. Carter and Jack stood closer to the back door. A wise decision on their part. 

“Aww, thanks for waiting for me,” Jason exhaled, releasing a plume of smoke from his lips as he held the cigarette between his fingers. He winked at Wyatt just to rile him up before stepping off the wall. 

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, you dumb whore.” Wyatt advanced, launching a right hook with no clear aim. Jason leaned back, watching the fist glide past his face. Wyatt missed, obviously. Jason made sure they had no idea who they were messing with earlier.

“A _whore_ , huh?” Jason chuckled. “You wish, Wyatt.” Jason narrowed his gaze, sliding out of Wyatt’s second attempt. He could dodge that shit in his sleep. Jason took another puff of his cigarette, letting it hang from his lips.

“What?” asked Wyatt, confused. Jason stepped forward as Wyatt took two steps back. He frowned, eyeing the space between Wyatt’s vest.

“If you’re asking me out on a date, I’m not interested _either_ ,” Jason said with a careful smile. “Just so we’re clear.” 

When Wyatt came back with a third blow, Jason had to twist to deflect, pulling at his ribs. Without thinking, Jason’s hand made a move toward his right side. Wyatt saw an opening. He tossed his left elbow at Jason’s side, which he blocked, but the palm of Wyatt’s other hand shot up toward Jason’s chin. He pulled back, but the impact clipped the cigarette from his mouth and knocked his baseball cap to the ground. “Great,” said Jason flatly. “You made me drop my smoke.” He stamped out the still fresh cherry with the toe of his sneaker.

Jason’s hand dove into the pocket of his sweats, as if to grab a second smoke. Taking his time, he raised his right arm, waving the back of his hand in an arc across their field of vision. Turning his hand forward, his fingers slowly revealed the metal lighter, gleaming in the sunlight. The group stared at the lighter like Jason was a fucking magician, exchanging glances and waiting for someone else to strike a move. 

They say tricks are for kids, but Jason still enjoyed pulling random shit out of his sleeves. Closing his fingers around the lighter, he drew a tight fist while eyeing Wyatt. He charged forward, bashing the butt of the metal lighter against the side of Wyatt’s skull. “I know you have a tough time taking ‘no’ for an answer,” Jason whispered in Wyatt’s ear. “But I don’t mind spelling it out for you.”

“You dumb queer–” said Wyatt, his hands flying to the side of his head. “I ain’t into you….”

“Well, that makes two of us because you’re definitely not my type,” Jason smirked while shaking his head. 

“Hold him down!” growled Wyatt, groaning as he cradled his now bleeding head. 

Jack and Carter hesitated for a moment while Jason blew them each a kiss. Eh, why not? 

Even though Jason didn’t have his gear, it was daylight, three farmers and Slade was nearby. It wasn’t like he could parkour this lot or slice through the air in a series of menacing flips. But if he could arm himself with a single gun, he could walk away without pissing off Slade and be back inside before he returned. Jason had this under control. 

Carter and Jack zeroed in, attempting to corner him.

Then again, if Jason had a gun, he’d use it. Not to kill but to disarm quickly. Or not. People inside the diner would hear. There’d be a commotion. Cops involved. Plus, all the bats. Slade would know and Jason would be in deep shit. 

Carter took a swing at Jason’s head and missed.

Red Hood wasn’t a rule. Fighting wasn’t a rule. Just no training and do as the old man says. They were between safe houses and Slade didn’t leave Jason any instructions, so technically, he was in the clear. Jason could argue that there was some leeway, but he wasn’t sure if that word existed in Slade’s vocabulary.

_Don’t make me regret this, Jason._

As far as excuses go, they started it. Jack’s left leg was jumpy, looking to land a sidekick. Jason caught his ankle in the air, wrenching it before he released. As Jack hit the ground, Wyatt and Carter squared up again using the same shitty technique. Jason laughed.

Wyatt threw a right hook at Jason, again catching nothing but air, leaving the dumb fuck wide open. Jason lunged, twisting his upper body to deck Wyatt with a strong right jab to the face. Landing the hit felt good. _Twisting_ his body, however, felt like shit. Luckily, adrenaline was edging him along as he watched Wyatt stumble.

“Well, aren’t you just a clumsy fuck,” observed Jason.

Wyatt and Carter crowded Jason, edging him toward the wall. That would be bad, so he sidestepped to gain a wider stance. He looked to his other side to see Jack lurking. Jason sent him packing with a sharp push kick at the soft back of Jack’s knees.

“I’m gonna make you wish you’d gone back where you came from instead of comin’ out here today,” Carter threatened. 

Wow. Well, Jason was going to dust the shelves with Carter's dumbass mustache. 

Carter closed in on him. Without much thought, Jason’s hands flew forward, catching Carter’s head like an interception. He pulled back and propelled his own head against Carter’s jaw.

Jason kneed Carter deep in the balls; he squeaked and doubled over just like they do in the movies. 

As soon as he looked up, Jason pitched a solid right uppercut to the face. It was safe to say Carter’s nose was broken. He staggered before he dropped like a felled tree. 

“Get Carter’s weak-ass outta’ here!” Wyatt directed to Jack, who dragged Carter by the arms, leaving him to recover against the far wall next to the dumpsters. At least his buddies were nice enough to pull him away from the fight. 

For all Jason knew, Slade was planning to sell Red Hood to the highest bidder. He could be wiring the money at this very moment. The idea that Slade could hand him off outside of Gotham in the middle of fucking nowhere made Jason aware that you really couldn’t trust anyone, despite their chivalry.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wyatt latched onto Jason’s cast with both hands, hurling his body against the wall. Fuck–it hurt, but Jason locked his jaw and exhaled through gritted teeth. 

Jason was feeling less than stellar; he just slammed against a concrete wall. As Wyatt and Jack approached again, Jason decided to defend the injuries he brought to the fight. His ribs were already forcing him to pull his punches.

Wyatt withdrew his gun from his vest, pointing it at Jason, as Jack moved to pull his out, too. 

“I dare you to come closer,” said Jason with a casual edge. Change of plans. Jason needed the upper hand before Slade could lose his goddamn mind.

“I’ll stick this barrel down your throat if you don’t shut up,” warned Wyatt. 

Nice try. Jason knew Wyatt wouldn’t shoot him at the diner unless he was dumber than a rock. Wyatt threw his arm at his neck, attempting a chokehold. Jason ducked, lifting his head again. Just in time to block Jack’s fist from connecting with his face. 

While Jason eyed Wyatt, Jack whipped his gun across his left arm.

As the steel alloy hit Jason’s cast, he felt a flood of warning signals rippling out, each flare hot and searing from wrist-to-forearm down to fractured bone. Jason’s voice caught on his own ragged breath, and he didn’t appreciate the sound that escaped.

“You know what you sound like?” Wyatt jeered. “A pig before a slaughter.” Jack and Wyatt snickered, their grins stretching at the pain they finally inflicted.

Jason couldn’t hide beneath a mask this time. Even though it was a few farmers, he didn’t have the armor to soften these blows. Breaking his stance, he drew his body inward without crouching. Because that shit fucking hurt. He bared his teeth, sucking in oxygen. He needed to end this. Quickly. 

Before Jason could move, Wyatt stepped in front of Jack.

Feeling the wind of a blow, Jason clutched his arm close to his chest. His first instinct was to protect what was already broken, so he turned his back to the incoming fist. 

Wyatt struck Jason in the ribs. His cracked ribs. 

Jason gasped at the stabbing sensation, reeling over as he fought for air. He felt the blow ringing all the way through his ears. Jason was suddenly so dizzy he thought he might puke on the spot. 

Wyatt slammed Jason back against the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs, as his right arm hit the same concrete with a sharp _smack_. Jason suddenly jolted. A fantastic current of electricity swam straight through him, congregating like a swarm of bees. The shock was so intense it felt like his bones were vibrating.

The release of the steel grip on Jason’s wrist fucking shocked him as he heard it clatter on the ground. Slade said he deactivated it. He lied.

Jason was surprised he didn’t pass out, as Wyatt used his elbow to pin him to the wall like a dead insect, digging into his already bruised collarbone. Wyatt got in his face, grinning at Jason’s inability to fight back. He felt a sharp burn radiating from his chest through his entire body, the voltage locking every muscle in a tight spasm on its exit. The pain. Immediate, like placing your hand on a hot burner. And the lingering effects–just as excruciating. But what Jason feared most was the loss of control. 

Where the fuck was Slade? 

“Lil’ pup can’t fight back?” taunted Wyatt with a fake pout. For a brief moment, he brushed Jason’s sweat-soaked hair out of his face before grabbing a fistful and forcing his chin up. 

Wyatt then gripped Jason by the neck, staring into his glassy eyes. “I could make you a collar with a few good bruises. Would you like that?” Wyatt added his second hand, squeezing until Jason was seeing stars in the middle of the afternoon. Wyatt smiled as he listened to the sick gurgles Jason was making. He tried to gulp but couldn’t swallow.

Wyatt forced Jason to his knees. 

Force was a strong word. Jason was so disoriented from the aftershock he could barely stand. When Wyatt let go of his neck, his arms hung at his sides with the backs of his hands resting on the ground. 

Wyatt kicked Jason in the ribs. He keeled, coughing through swollen airways. His body was screaming in defeat. And then Wyatt kicked him _again._

“Stop,” Jason tried, his voice sounding wet and mangled.

“Did you hear something?” asked Wyatt, “I think _it_ tried to speak.”

Jason was gagging on his own coughs, tasting both sharp and metallic. Blood was pooling inside his mouth and under his tongue. It was becoming harder to breathe. 

A truck parked in the lot several yards away. Relief threatened Jason. 

By now, Slade should have realized that Jason wasn’t at their table. Jason didn’t know who called, or why. 

Slowly, two men stepped out. One of them was holding a shotgun. They were dressed similar to Wyatt. 

“Hey, Forrest, Jimmy,” said Wyatt to his other buddies.

Shit–where was Slade? Why was he taking so long? 

“Not so tough now, Nancy.” Wyatt grinned, grabbing him by the throat and forcing Jason to look at him. 

“Fuck you,” Jason coughed.

Jack snickered along. “Maybe you oughta put the mutt down.” 

Jason spit all the blood he’d been collecting across Wyatt’s face.

“You disgusting–” shrieked Wyatt, wiping away the spit and blood with his forearm. “Hold the bitch down, Jack!”

“Absolutely,” he replied.

Jason grinned back at them through blood-stained teeth. 

“I’m gonna feed you to the pigs when we’re done with you,” said Wyatt.

Jack grabbed the back of his neck, pushing him down and forcing Jason to stay braced on his hands and knees. 

“Must be excited,” noted Wyatt. “Its face is turnin’ red.” They were both laughing at Jason. 

Fuck. Jason wanted to kill all three. Why was he _always_ playing by someone else’s rules when he was the only one with something to lose? 

While Jack held him down, Wyatt lifted his work boot, stepping onto Jason’s back, who was shaking his head, pleading. Ignoring him, Wyatt continued to drive his boot deeper into the back of Jason’s ribs. He was failing to draw in any air. He kept choking.

Inside the diner, Jason made it look like he was unable to properly defend himself, something he was only confirming with each passing moment–maybe Slade had judged him. 

“You see, a bad dog always gets punished,” Wyatt said, matter-of-fact. “I’m gonna teach this dumb mutt a lesson it can take to its grave.” 

It dawned on Jason that Slade decided the cost was no longer worth the effort. 

Jason tried suppressing the pain that threatened to scream out. He bit his lower lip until it bled. He didn’t want anyone to hear his own miserable cries that Jason swears didn’t sound like goddamn yelps. He clenched his bloody teeth. He wasn’t a fucking dog. He wasn’t–

_A dog would be more useful than you._

Jason was useless to the mercenary. Slade said so himself.

“Whimpering isn’t gonna do you any good lil’ dog,” said Wyatt, running a hand through Jason’s hair. Wyatt pulled hard, forcing him to lower his head. “Guess you shoulda thought twice before taking a piss inside.”

Slade paid the bill, Jason realized. And then he left.

Jason felt the pressure in his ribs disappear, giving him a moment to breathe. Wyatt’s boot slammed back down with even greater force. All the air he just inhaled left him sputtering. Luckily, Jason bent the elbow of his broken arm. He hit the ground on his side, his rib cage and left arm absorbing most of the fall. 

Metropolis wasn’t far. Did Slade take a job and leave him at the diner? 

“Now, be a good dog and get back on all fours,” ordered Wyatt, hovering over him. 

“Bru– _fuck_ ,” breathed Jason. It slipped out like sheer muscle memory. He needed to wake up to reality. Not wish on a fucking star. 

Jason wanted to curl up, cover his eyes, resign. But no one taught him how to quit. 

For a solid minute, Jason struggled to lift his own body with Wyatt laughing in his ear. The shock shut down every muscle like a citywide power outage. His entire left arm was trembling, unable to hold any weight. He pulled his arm back and inhaled a shuddering breath that sounded more like a dead engine flooding. 

Slade didn’t ask Jason to follow him. He just stood up and left.

“Did I ask you to shake, boy?” mocked Wyatt, _yanking_ Jason’s cast forward as he gasped out loud. “You put that hand on the ground, or my buddy over there’s gonna shoot it off.” Jason looked up to see the shotgun pointing at him. 

Slade lied about the restraint…. Did he lie about their deal, too? 

His ribs were throbbing. Every breath was a labor he couldn’t lift. His shoulders were straining. Jason’s left arm was shaking so badly from the pressure he couldn’t hold still.

Wyatt kneeled in front of Jason, lifting his chin. “Lemme ask you somethin’, did your boyfriend do this, or was it your daddy when he found out what you really are?” 

Wyatt pressed the barrel of his gun against the bruises on Jason’s face. When Jason’s breath hitched on a deeper bruise on his cheek, Wyatt smiled. He struck Jason, aiming for that same spot, as he exhaled sharply. It sounded pathetic. Like a whimper. 

Jason assumed that Slade would protect him if he paid the old man back. But Jason hadn’t paid the mercenary yet.

Wyatt stood up from kneeling. “I want you to repeat after me,” he directed. “I’m a _bad_ dog.”

Jason remained silent until Wyatt’s boot struck his left side. A strangled yelp filled the air. Wyatt was drawing his leg back. He was going to kick him again. 

“I’m… a...” Jason stammered. “B-bad d-dog.” 

“And you know what happens to bad dogs out here?” Wyatt said, glaring back at him, as Jason shook his head.

Jason’s gaze dropped back to the ground as he coughed up more blood, this time dribbling past his chin and onto the dusty lot. Gravel was digging into both his hands, his fingers clawing at the ground. Jason’s entire body was shaking. His lungs were on fire. His vision was hazy at best and darkening with each moment. He couldn’t speak. He was so fucked. 

...It didn’t occur to Jason that Slade would leave without saying a word. 

“Jesus, Jack, listen to how hard it’s panting,” laughed Wyatt. “You wanna go for a ride, boy?” Wyatt patted him on the head.

“We’re gonna take a little drive into the countryside where it’s nice and quiet, and you can’t bother the good people at this diner _anymore_ ,” explained Wyatt. “Now, I want you to crawl into the back of this truck,” he said, pointing, “like the worthless dog that you are.” 

“No–” said Jason, his voice straining.

Well, Jason didn’t trust Slade anyway.

Fucking tears betrayed Jason, slipping down his face without any warning. He was gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe.

Wyatt just smiled. “You made a mess, and I’m gonna need you to clean it up.” He grabbed Jason by the back of the head and shoved his face into the dirt.

“Wha–” wheezed Jason, his voice muffled by the ground. 

“You’re gonna lick up all that blood and crawl into that truck, or I’m gonna kick you in the ribs until you pass out. Either way, you’re coming with us,” said Wyatt, giving him a choice. He let go of Jason.

Jason had to keep stalling on his own. He couldn’t end up in that truck. Unconscious. Alone.

“S-Slade,” Jason choked out, but Slade wasn’t there.

Jason realized he was the one who always left everyone in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like most of you predicted, shit went down lol. hahahah i hope you enjoyed this reallyyy long chapter - it's like 6k words
> 
> Editor's Note: It's basically three chapters long. Thanks for waiting!


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